


Let The Music Begin

by reliquiaen



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each chapter is based on a song because music is quite good for inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golden - Lady Antebellum

Steam guttered across the street, writhing with the passing of slow evening traffic. The heat of the day sucked away by the crisp evening, lingering warmth oozing from the bitumen, from the sidewalk and crawling away. Friday night lights flashed on billboards, street signs, awnings; noise clattered through the air, rowdy college students and apathetic office workers rinsing off another week. Alcohol wasn’t the best way to wash away stress, it was sticky and erratic, but it was better than wallowing in a puddle of gooey ice cream.

She swore she wouldn’t do it, bars weren’t her scene. But with finals looming in front of her, eyes gritted from staring too long at books, she needed a breath of fresh air. While the claustrophobic clouds of the bar weren’t fresh in the slightest and smelt horribly of the tobacco wafting in from the landing, it was a change. 

Her friends were sitting in a booth, bent crookedly over the table in a film noir conspiracy type way. They didn’t see her and she didn’t go sit down. Instead, she flopped onto a bench in the back corner, eyes following the patterns made by the strobe lights across the ceiling.

A band was just packing up their instruments on the stage, but there would be more entertainment soon. The night was in its adolescence, but loud dance music would no doubt pump through the bar into the early morning. Anything at all to take one’s mind off finals was worthwhile. 

Bonnie should be studying; she could feel the guilt eating away at the walls of her stomach even as she sat there. She should be studying and for any other exam she would be, but it was nice to be out of the apartment. It was tiny, its walls paper thin and leaking. The bar, while hazy and loud, wasn’t much of an improvement, it was to some degree.

A bass thrummed from the stage softly, almost imperceptibly. “Let’s start with a slow one tonight, huh?” The voice carried over the crowd by only the smallest margins, distorted by the microphone. Bonnie nearly missed it. Then the voice started singing and Bonnie would know it anywhere.

“ _The sunset falls in Wichita, yellow dances through the blue_  
 _Wheat fields catch a glimpse of heaven, makes me think of you_  
 _And even when you're miles away,_  
 _You're always on my mind_  
 _Lord knows you're in my heart_  
 _Even when I close my eyes._ ”

Her eyes scanned across the top of the crowd from her seated position, searching for the stage and its performer. She stood on her chair, short as she was, to get a better view and there, standing in her ever present knotted halo of black hair, was someone Bonnie had never thought to see in this sleepy town again. They’d been friends once, what felt like a lifetime ago. Before the singer had dropped out of high school and left, gone. Without so much as a goodbye.

“ _You are golden,_  
 _Precious as a prayer flying up through the air_  
 _While the rain is falling_  
 _Golden, timeless as a kiss_  
 _Baby I don't wanna miss another perfect moment_  
 _To tell you, how you make me fee_ l  
 _The day you strolled in, my heart was stolen_  
 _Cause you are golden._ ”

Her chest contracted and her hands shook slightly, with rage perhaps, frustration, pent up hostility begging for release after all this time. But her feet wouldn’t move. Not to storm up to the stage and slap the damn woman, not to sit back down and glower at the table. Not even to leave. 

“ _Smallest parts of who you are_  
 _Are everything to me_  
 _From the way you laugh to the way you cry_  
 _To the way you love on me_  
 _Shadows run and darkness fades_  
 _When you come around_  
 _My single star amongst the grey_  
 _Always shining down._ ”

It took a moment, but what she’d said finally sunk in. This was Marceline… singing a slow song? Her fists unclenched as she listened. Not once in all the years she’d known the other woman had a slow song… a song like this, ever come out of her mouth. Oh no, not Marceline. This was… a love song? Bonnie’s shoulder slumped, her mouth fell open and all she could do was stare.

“ _Yeah you are golden,_  
 _Precious as a prayer flying up through the air_  
 _While the rain is falling_  
 _Golden, timeless as a kiss_  
 _Baby I don't wanna miss another perfect moment_  
 _To tell you, how you make me feel_  
 _The day you strolled in, my heart was stolen_  
 _Cause you are golden._ ”

Bonnie was still standing on her chair, completely oblivious. It had been nearly three years since she’d seen her… were they still friends? But Marceline still sang as beautifully as ever. And as the other woman’s eyes raked unseeing over the audience (some paying attention, some not) they locked onto Bonnie and widened. Her voice caught, lyrics sliding ever so slightly and her fingers missed a chord. 

Then the mistake was gone, covered up behind her cocky smile and a wink. But Bonnie knew Marceline very well; they had been friends after all. And she could see the way Marceline held onto the neck of her guitar with a too-tight, white-knuckled hand and the fingers of her other hand seemed to have lost some of their coordination. There was strain in her voice now, faint and wavering, likely no one else noticed.

“ _Lovely_  
 _Oh so hard to find_  
 _Yeah you are goodness, forgiveness_  
 _Of the purest kind_  
 _Oh yeah._ ”

Marceline still hadn’t looked away. Her brown eyes were as penetrating as Bonnie remembered, feeling as though, beneath that knowing gaze, Marceline was privy to every secret, every thought, every last daydream she’d ever had. It was disconcerting. Almost as weird as the way Marceline’s voice had changed, not strained now, but… something else. Calm, perhaps. 

It was too hard. Bonnie struggled to move, feet still unresponsive. She had to go. Study looked very good in that moment and the last thing she wanted was a confrontation with the touchy singer. It would only end one way. Her groping fingers closed around the strap of her bag and she shuffled off the chair, tearing her eyes away. She could still feel Marceline’s eyes on her back though, and even as she reached the door, the last lyrics filled her ears. Inescapable.

“ _From the day you strolled in, my heart was stolen_  
 _You'll be the hand I'm holding,_  
 _When the heavens open_  
 _Cause you are golden, yeah._ ”

Bonnie burst into the street outside and sighed heavily. She didn’t break stride, didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, she set off down the street as fast as a dignified pace would allow. She never even reached the corner.

“Bonnie.”

The voice stopped her in her tracks. It was a whisper, little more than an exhalation, quiet in the still night. Her breath caught in her lungs, her heart stuttered. Whatever was said, there wouldn’t be an argument, she couldn’t… _wouldn’t_ argue with Marceline.

She didn’t turn though and it wasn’t long before Marceline’s hand touched her shoulder, hesitant, soft, feather-light. Now, with another sigh – this one resigned – she shifted. Meeting Marceline’s eyes was the hardest thing she’d done in a while.

“What?”

Marceline shuffled her feet, hands in the pockets of her jeans now, uncomfortable or unsure. She’d never been good at emotions. Bonnie frowned.

“Uh… well,” Marceline began. One hand slipped from her pocket to rub the side of her neck. “I just… you don’t normally go to bars.” Once upon a time, the unspoken question in her babbling would have been answered. Bonnie didn’t answer it this time.

“So? You don’t normally sing slow songs.”

“Yeah…” she trailed off, staring over Bonnie’s head. “Just been feeling… slow… I guess.” Her crooked smile flashed fleetingly across her face before confused discomfort regained dominance. “Had some things that needed saying and a slow song seemed best.” She shrugged, hand back in her pocket.

“Uh-huh. And?”

Marceline lifted an eyebrow and despite herself, Bonnie felt herself falling back into her old patterns. They’d always had strange ways of communicating, ways her other friends didn’t get. A look, the slightest of gestures, even a raised eyebrow, contained volumes. And even if she wanted to be angry at Marceline for leaving, even though she wanted to be frustrated that the other woman still had trouble verbalising basic things, this was easy. It was familiar and simple and something she’d missed.

Bonnie sighed. “Why are you here? Why come back? And what the _hell_ were you singing a slow song for?”

Now the wonky smile flickered to life, this time it stayed. “None of them are what you really want to ask me, Bon,” she whispered. Marceline pointed to a set of stairs not too far away and Bonnie headed for it. The invitation was implicit. Maybe Marceline had trouble with words, but she’d never been all that hard to understand.

“I still want them answered,” she replied, sitting on the bottom step.

Marceline looked away and Bonnie couldn’t help but notice the space she’d left between them as she sat. Before, Marceline wouldn’t have had a problem invading her personal space, but the gap now seemed infinitely vast. What was worse was Bonnie couldn’t bring herself to close it.

“Not a simple answer,” Marceline murmured, now staring at the sky. Her elbows propped on the next stair up, head tilted back, smile gone again. Marceline without a smile didn’t look right.

“Three answers,” Bonnie reminded her.

She shook her head, hair whispering as it shifted. “Not really. Just the one.” Mystery. Bonnie had hoped Marceline wouldn’t still be as enigmatic. Apparently this was not the case.

Fortunately, Bonnie knew precisely how to deal with it. She stood. “Fine. Have fun.” And with that and not a single backwards glance, Bonnie headed home.

As before, she didn’t make it far.

“Wait!” The cry was broken, disjointed and pleading. Not a combination heard often in Marceline’s voice.

Bonnie glanced back. Marceline was on her feet, eyes wild, one hand out, grabbing at Bonnie’s sleeve. She still couldn’t make eye contact, still danced around her words.

“Oh for the love of all that is holy,” Bonnie said waspishly. Despite her earlier promise, she could feel her ire rising. She was perilously close to losing her temper, which didn’t happen often. But Marceline was a notorious cause for it. “You can’t say it,” Bonnie went on, wrestling her tone into something more civil. “You can’t. I know you and that’s how you’ve always been. And I’m not going to stand here while you dither. Goodnight…” She had to amend the last bit. “Goodbye,” she said instead. It sounded much more final.

With that she turned a third time. And she honestly planned to go home this time. She honestly did. But she wasn’t prepared for what Marceline said. Goodness, given a lifetime she wouldn’t be able to prepare for it.

“I missed you.”

Her feet stopped so fast she almost fell over. Surely she’d heard wrong. Warmth gurgled in her chest and she was pretty darn sure her heart had stopped as well. That couldn’t be good. She stubbornly refused to look though. Not this time. Oh no.

She turned.

There was a light in Marceline’s eyes she’d never seen before. It was almost panicked. “I missed you, okay?” she repeated. Right, Bonnie had heard correctly. “I caught a bus and went south. Went everywhere really. I just… just travelled. But the whole time I was thinking about how I didn’t even say goodbye.” She paused, ran a hand through her hair. “Every time I caught a ride I thought about how easy it would be to come back here. Come home. I felt… inside like… I couldn’t stay away. Like elastic drawn too tight, it always snaps back, right? There was too much… tension. Then one day I realised I was an hour from here and I… I came back. I wanted to see you.”

Her shoulders dropped as though saying that had taken all her strength. Maybe it had. That was more than she’d ever said at once before. She never explained herself, never reasoned anything out, Marceline just did things. Everyone else got vertigo watching her.

Bonnie felt the need to fill the silence suddenly between them. But what could she do? Nothing. Instead she asked, “Why did you leave?”

Marceline blew out her cheeks, looking away. It was almost sheepish. “I was scared. You were the best friend I’d ever had and it scared me. I didn’t even have to speak with you. It was like you just knew what I meant.”

“I did,” Bonnie admitted. “But that’s beside the point. Why are you using past tense?”

Now, startled, Marceline’s eyes finally met Bonnie’s. “Past tense?”

“You said I _was_ your best friend. Past tense. Why?”

“I left.” She shrugged. And to Marceline, that’s exactly how simple it was.

“Why the slow song?”

“You’re just a nosy as I remember,” Marceline muttered, smiling.

“You said it was all one answer,” Bonnie observed. “What is it?”

Again, Marceline needed only to lift one eyebrow. _Seriously, Bonnie_ , it seemed to be saying. _You’re seriously asking me that question? I already told you the answer, bubble-brain. Remember_?

“Me?”

Marceline laughed, a sound Bonnie was suddenly forced to recall she enjoyed so much. “You heard me when I said I missed you, right?” Is it possible to close three years’ worth of space? “So yeah. You.”

Bonnie frowned again. “That didn’t sound like a song you wrote because you have a friend, Marceline.” No… it had sounded like… like a love song. Marceline didn’t write love songs.

“Maybe it wasn’t.” Just like that, Marceline clammed back up. Not one word ever escaped her mouth if she didn’t want it to. Not one.

Bonnie _tched_ and turned to walk off again. Threats didn’t work against Marceline, that was something she’d learned long ago. To get through to the stupidly stubborn woman, she had to actually carry them out. Simply walking away was the easiest and – in this case – most effective.

This time, Marceline followed her. That kind of ruined her plan. But Bonnie ignored her, to the best of her ability, and they walked in silence.

“I said I was scared,” Marceline eventually put forth. “Cause you… you were so close. You know me so well and it scared me.”

She wanted to interject, but cutting Marceline off mid-stream was a bad idea. Once her words halted, there was no guaranteed way to get her talking again. Best to just keep her mouth shut.

“I was scared because I _cared_ ,” she went on slowly. “Too much. I liked you too much… wanted… I don’t know what to call it. But I… was worried what you’d do if you found out. Terrified that you’d never talk to me again. I thought if I left, I’d… cool down or something. I thought I could work it out, get rid of it. But… that never happened. I still care too much. And we don’t talk. And I hate it.”

That was convoluted and made no sense. She couldn’t tell Marceline that though, for someone who kept their emotions so securely locked away, she was awfully sensitive. It appeared Marceline didn’t have any extra insight for her though. Very helpful.

“Enlightening,” Bonnie grumbled. “You left because we were friends and it scared you. How logical.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“I don’t know how to say it so you’ll understand,” Marceline said softly. She hadn’t gotten angry at the sarcasm. How odd. “Have you ever felt… infinite? Like you’re the biggest thing in the world, as though the sun lives inside?”

 _Yes_ , Bonnie’s mind said before she could silence it. She had. Infinite, like the night sky.

“It’s like that,” Marceline continued. “So big I felt explosive. It made me want things that… didn’t sound like good ideas.” Her mischievous grin flashed again. “And we both know that most things sound like good ideas to me.” True, so anything Marceline was hesitant to do must be truly _awful_.

“Things like what?” Bonnie felt compressed, her voice shook. Her heart drummed staccato in her ears.

Marceline shrugged. “Just things.” _And it’s best not to talk about them_ , her tone implied.

“So what? You come back, still as inarticulate as ever and we go back to how it used to be?” Bonnie asked her wryly. “You know that can’t happen. You _left_ and I don’t know why.” She stopped, standing on the stairs outside her building and turned to Marceline, using her extra step to her advantage. “I don’t get it. I can’t just pretend you never left and neither can you. If I’m the reason you left _and_ I’m the reason you came back, I think I deserve _something_ at least. Can’t you just-”

Marceline pulled her into a hug, cutting off her words. “I don’t want to tell you,” Marceline whispered into her collar. “I’m scared of it.” She was being brutally honest, so forthright and it wasn’t natural. “But I don’t want to leave again. I don’t want to lose you.”

In spite of herself, Bonnie found her fingers wound into the back of Marceline coat, holding just as tightly. She’d missed this (if she was being honest), missed the feel of hugging her friend, the smell of her hair, all of it. None of her other friends could ever replace this. Not if they tried.

“You can’t have that,” Bonnie murmured back. Marceline’s hands tensed on her back. “You can’t. It doesn’t work that way. You have to tell me. I need to know. What if something happens and you get scared again. You’ll leave and it’ll hurt _me_. It’ll hurt us both. You know it. You’re good at keeping secrets, Marcy, but not from me.”

Marceline turned her face, pressing her nose into Bonnie’s collar. She made no move to let go or to speak. Truthfully, Bonnie didn’t really want her to. But after so long, she’d trained herself well, no matter what she wanted, she’d let go when Marceline did. Always.

“Either way then…” Marceline sighed. “Either way… I lose you. I’d rather be friends, than nothing, Bonnie. But this… this will end badly.”

Funny, Bonnie had thought the same thing earlier. Her fingers moved up, tangling in the hair at the nape of Marceline’s neck. The other woman shivered, arms contracting. “Just tell me.”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I already hate you.”

In the circumstances, the bad joke was a success simply because she felt Marceline smile. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Marceline still didn’t let go. Maybe she thought if she held on Bonnie wouldn’t hate her for… whatever she was going to say. Maybe she thought it’d help.

“Spit it out already,” Bonnie said lightly.

“I… The day you strolled in, my heart was stolen. You are golden.” Marceline trembled. Her inability to say things in a straight forward fashion was endearing and frustrating by turns. Lyrics were only useful in so far as they made sense. She let go but didn’t step back, mouth open like she wanted to add something. “I… I really suck at saying things. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Bonnie replied. “I’m used to it. Be nice to hear the actual words though.”

Marceline’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Huh?”

“Come on, really? You said yourself; I just know what you mean.” She smiled. “Besides, that wasn’t too hard to work out. You’re not half as mysterious as you like to think.”

Marceline blinked. “Huh?”

“The words, Marceline,” she said. “There’s three of them. All single syllables. They take very little effort to say. In fact, you expended more energy singing a song.” Bonnie grabbed the hem of Marceline’s shirt as she tried to edge away, probably to stare confusedly at her from further off. “Say the words, Marceline,” she murmured. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

Her fingers fidgeted, uncomfortable clearly, but she was doing her very best to meet Bonnie’s eyes. She was failing, but points for trying. Marceline sighed again, closing her eyes.

“I’m in love with you, Bonnie.” She tensed, clearly waiting for some sort of violent reaction.

So when Bonnie leaned in and kissed her, she wasn’t ready for it. “You used more words than you had to,” she mumbled into Marceline’s mouth. “You only needed three. That was six.” Marceline was very confused. It made Bonnie laugh. “I love you too.”

“You… don’t hate me?”

“Pay attention when I speak, Marceline. What did I say?”

“You love me…”

“Yes. Now, let’s try this again.” She pressed her lips to Marceline’s once more and this time, Marceline kissed back. It made her toes curl and her heart pound altogether too hard.

Marceline was first to pull away, but not far. “That took three years too long.” She was grinning like an idiot. “I’m sorry I left.”

“Just shut up. You have three years to make up for.”


	2. Back To December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taylor Swift

Bonnibel hated apologising. She hated being wrong about things and she hated to admit when she was at fault. Which is why she spent so many hours learning things. She assumed that if she knew a lot of _stuff_ she’d never have to be wrong. Which meant that she’d never have to apologise. 

She extrapolated that upon learning everything she possibly could – given the restraints shackling her time, courtesy of running a kingdom – she would never, ever have to be wrong again. And, knowing everything could never possibly be a bad thing. Unfortunately, there are a vast array of facts not listed for easy discovery. Many things are not obtainable by sifting through the volumes, dusty and forgotten, in her library. Some things can’t even be found in Turtle Princess’ library, and it’s pretty darn big.

These things were constantly eluding her and it was bothersome and tiring. She wished it was possible to just ask a question and have it answered. Sometimes at least, she’d admit to being rather fond of experiments. Bonnibel ran experiments all the time, on all sorts of things. She herself was often the primary test subject, but her subordinates and even the wider population of candy people weren’t excused from test-duty. It was nice to know how the same experiments affected people differently.

However, it was impossible to test for all contingencies, so things always had gaps in the results. Some more gapingly obvious than others. And some experiments ended in utter catastrophe. It was one such catastrophe that saw her in her lab at 3.27am one morning, blearily focused on the tome she was reading.

It was a psychological research paper on understanding emotions. Perhaps if she delved deep enough into the subconscious she’d know why she was feeling so… positively _awful_ regarding this particular mishap. It didn’t really make sense, if she was honest; it was just an experiment so why did she feel so upset by it? She’d managed to maintain detachment from everything else, but clearly this one had crossed a boundary she hadn’t anticipated.

Curiously, the book mentioned ‘emotional blockages’ and repressed feelings as being one of the greatest factors in such turbulent feelings as she was currently experiencing. Confusion and bittersweet sorrow. Perhaps… just perhaps, she really _had_ made the wrong decision.

Slowly, she stood, snatched a piece of only slightly crumpled paper from her desk and left her lab. Maybe she’d write on the paper, maybe she wouldn’t, it didn’t matter anyway, she just wanted to organise her thoughts. The book said that putting them on paper would help. Maybe she needed a matrix or a pros/cons list to fully… no. This was something that couldn’t be resolved with logic.

Morrow looked at her sleepily as she stepped into the aviary on the top of one tower. His big golden eyes blinking at her lethargically, he didn’t very much appreciate being woken so early. Yet he made not a single squawk of complaint as she settled herself on his back. And after one moment’s hesitation when she mentioned her destination, he spread massive wings and dove from the roof.

She pulled the pen from the gum behind one ear and held it above the paper on her lap. Words wouldn’t come out though. She didn’t know where to start. Didn’t know what to put down. Bonnibel was very, very confused. And she supposed part of that confusion stemmed from her hesitation to admit she was wrong.

Bonnibel had always assumed she’d made the right choice, that being so firm and cold was just the way it had to be. She had assumed that things needed to be a certain way, that they needed to meet certain criteria. But maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe things just had to be the way they were, no restraining conditions. Just let it be the way it is. Perhaps… she’d been hasty.

Then, with a flash of insight, she knew why the words wouldn’t come: she was trying to write them wrong. It had always seemed foolish to write lyrics instead of actual words when trying to communicate something. Lyrics were fluid, they could mean more than one thing and people interpreted them differently, bringing past experiences to bear. Yet now, lyrics spilled from the end of her pen when moments before, mere words had failed.

“ _I’m so glad you made time to see me._  
 _How’s life? Tell me how’s your family?_  
 _I haven’t seen them in a while._  
 _You’ve been good, busier than ever,_  
 _We small talk, work and the weather,_  
 _Your guard is up and I know why._  
 _Because the last time you saw me_  
 _Is still burned in the back of your mind._  
 _You gave me roses and I left them there to die._ ”

Yes that’s what had happened and since then she’d avoided any kind of interaction. Remaining distant had seemed best. Leave some space and maybe things wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe she wouldn’t mind that she’d lost a friend, lost a trusted confidant, lost part of herself. She hadn’t noticed at the time, but now, she knew there was something inside her missing. Something that had left all those years ago when she spoke silly, angry words in the name of science.

“ _So this is me swallowing my pride,_  
 _Standing in front of you saying, ‘I’m sorry for that night,’_  
 _And I go back to December all the time._  
 _It turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you._  
 _Wishing I’d realised what I had when you were mine._  
 _I’d go back to December, turn around and make it all right._  
 _I go back to December all the time._ ”

It had been snowing outside, she recalled. The cold had never really bothered her. Admittedly, she liked summer better, but winter had its charms too. The cold did. She liked the cold. Yet last winter, she’d been sad. She’d chalked it up to the pressure of running her kingdom, but maybe that wasn’t it at all.

“ _These days I haven’t been sleeping,_  
 _Staying up, playing back myself leaving._  
 _When your birthday passed and I didn’t call._  
 _And I think about summer, all the beautiful times,_  
 _I watched you laughing from the passenger side._  
 _And realised I loved you in the fall…_ ”

Wait. Bonnibel sucked in a sharp breath as she realised what she’d written. She searched inside, trying to find an ounce of doubt. But no, there was none. She exhaled into the cool air and drew in another shuddering breath. So… it hadn’t been science after all.

“ _And then the cold came, the dark days when fear crept into my mind._  
 _You gave me all your love and all I gave you was ‘goodbye’._  
 _So this is me swallowing my pride_  
 _Standing in front of you saying, ‘I’m sorry for that night’._  
 _And I go back to December all the time._  
 _It turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you,_  
 _Wishing I’d realised what I had when you were mine._  
 _I’d go back to December, turn around and change my mind._  
 _I go back to December all the time._ ”

That’s right. Seeing her again recently with Finn, that’s what had started that niggling feeling inside that things weren’t all as ok as she thought. Normally she’d have decided it was simply a fleeting insecurity, perhaps visit a seer and find out if it might be a foretelling of some kind. Only it wasn’t any sort of foreboding, it was… regret.

“ _I miss your tanned skin, your sweet smile,_  
 _So good to me, so right_  
 _And how you held me in your arms that September night –_  
 _The first time you ever saw me cry._  
 _Maybe this is wishful thinking,_  
 _Probably mindless dreaming,_  
 _But if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right._  
 _I’d go back in time and change it but I can’t._  
 _So if the chain is on your door, I understand._ ”

Morrow began his descent and Bonnibel wondered if she could really be as accepting as she’d put on the paper. She wondered if she’d be able to handle it. This experiment had turned out very differently than she’d planned and this sudden influx of learning had startled her. Who knew that discovering emotional reactions like this could be so draining?

“ _But this is me swallowing my pride,_  
 _Standing in front of you saying, ‘I’m sorry for that night.’_  
 _And I go back to December…_  
 _It turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you,_  
 _Wishing I’d realised what I had when you were mine._  
 _I’d go back to December, turn around and make it all right._  
 _I’d go back to December, turn around and change my mind._  
 _I go back to December all the time._  
 _All the time._ ”

With a soft whooshing, Morrow settled in the mouth of the cave, eyes the size of saucers peering at her as she slid off his back. It was as though he was asking if she was certain she wanted to do this. Bonnibel patted his cheek and ducked through the gloom. She’d made the assumption upon leaving that she’d be home. It was early, nearly dawn; there could be no reason for her to be out this late. Not really. Still, given how wrong so many of her other assumptions had been, perhaps it would be best not to do that anymore.

Anxious butterflies easily as large as Morrow fluttered around in her stomach and she was filled with a sudden urge to flee. Maybe it was best to let sleeping dogs lie… No. That wasn’t the way. She might as well get this over with. And she was convinced it would only end one way: with yelling and a slammed door.

She screwed her courage to the sticking point, took a deep breath, forced her shaking hand to stop doing that, and knocked on the door. Bonnibel fidgeted. She took a moment to study why precisely she was doing that. It wasn’t a normal habit of hers, so perhaps it correlated to her current predicament.

The door opened. The smiling face turned downwards in a frown when Bonnibel was registered as being the guest. It creaked open slightly so the owner could lean obnoxiously against the doorframe with arms crossed.

“Sup, Bonnie? Not like you to be out here in the middle of the night. Not like you to visit at all really.”

She took another deep breath. “I want to talk.”

Marceline lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh yeah? I remember the last time you said that. Pretty sure it ended in a yelling match and a few broken beakers. Sure you want to do that again?”

“Just talk, Marceline,” Bonnibel replied flatly. Why was it so hard to keep her temper? Why was her heart beating so fast? Did she really want to fix things that badly? “No yelling. Promise.”

Marceline sighed and stepped aside, allowing Bonnibel entrance. The house was exactly as she remembered. Sparsely furnished, guitars on racks along one wall and that horrendously uncomfortable sofa was still filling the space before the television. Bonnibel made a point of sitting on the floor in front of it.

“So what’s got you out here then?” Marceline enquired, folding her long legs beneath her as she sat across from Bonnibel. “You’ve been avoiding me for years.”

“I have a confession,” Bonnibel began slowly. It earned her an incredulous look. “I conducted a social experiment a while back. It was to assess the compatibility between various cultures. Some were incredibly harmonious, others less so. I learned a great deal from the experiment.” She paused, glancing at the cracked ceiling. “But… I made a mistake. It was just an experiment at the time, perfectly harmless, but I made a miscalculation. Actually… I missed a variable. It turns out emotions played a much larger part than I’d initially predicted. And that two people from different cultures might be perfectly able to be friends while two others from those same cultures might hate each other. It eventually became clear that friendships are made on a personal basis, not a broader culturally influenced pattern.”

Marceline just stared at her. “So? Why do you need to tell me this? Don’t you have other brainiacs you can whine to?”

Bonnibel sighed. “Because you were involved in the experiment, Marceline.”

“I was what now?” she exclaimed. “You _experimented_ on me? Bonnie!” She threw indignant hands in the air before leaning over and jabbing an equally incensed finger Bonnibel’s way. “You said you’d never involve me in your little tests.”

She shifted uncomfortably beneath that crimson gaze. “Yes well… not all vampires are as friendly as you are. I didn’t want to risk anyone getting hurt. Which is why I performed the test on you personally, rather than assigning someone else to it.”

The finger drooped and Marceline’s mouth dropped. “I’m very confused, Princess,” she muttered. “Are you… saying that our whole friendship deal was just a science thing?”

Bonnibel averted her gaze again. “Initially yes.” Marceline slapped her palm against the floor, eyes angry now. “At first it was just an experiment. But it… didn’t stay that way.” She exhaled. “I’m sorry, Marceline. I was… wrong. What I said before, when you left. I was wrong.” She stood, smoothing her skirt. It took a lot of effort to meet Marceline’s eyes this time and when she did, they were still full of rage.

Sighing again, resigned now to the fact that nothing would ever fix this mess, she turned. Then, remembering her paper, pulled it from her pocket and dropped it before Marceline. “I… don’t expect your forgiveness, Marceline. And I won’t ask for it. But… it would be nice.” She left.

She’d just reached Morrow, feeling very hollow, her steps slow and dragging, heart heavy and resigned, when the door to Marceline’s house banged open.

“Bonnibel Bubblegum,” the vampire roared. “You get back here! Right now!” Bonnibel ignored her and she could hear Marceline hissing.

A hand grabbed her should and spun her around. Another pale hand waved the paper in her face. “Did you write this?” Marceline asked in what bordered on a shriek.

“Yes.”

Marceline reeled at the simple reply. Then her hand dropped and all the fury drained from her face. Surprisingly, the vampire threw her arms around Bonnibel’s neck and hugged her.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Marceline muttered. “I was so mad. You just… What you said… it hurt, Bonnie.”

“I know. It was meant to.” Those words sounded so cruel now that she thought about them. She’d never actually thought she could hurt Marceline, not with words. And she’d never really wanted to.

“Then you ignored me… at first I thought you might have been joking, but when you wouldn’t talk to me I figured you were serious.” Her arms contracted around Bonnibel, hands bunched up in her dress. “I missed you.”

Bonnibel took a deep breath. She hadn’t actually thought Marceline would forgive her. “Can… can you really forgive me, Marceline?”

The vampire pulled back and gave her a watery grin. “I tried to hate you, Bonnie. I really did. But I can’t. You drive me positively crazy, but I don’t hate you. Forgiving you is the easiest thing in the world.”

Her knees shook. This was… actually happening. “Thank you,” she whispered back, burying her face in Marceline’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you too.”


	3. Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skillet. I changed the lyrics only a little bit.

The dungeon was – no surprises – cold. She shifted uncomfortably on the ice, trying to get more of her skirt between her and the slick surface beneath her in a vain attempt to stay warm. It wasn’t much help. And the room was dark too; no candles were lit here when she was alone. It was like she wasn’t supposed to see anything.

Actually, that made a kind of sense didn’t it? If she couldn’t see, how was she supposed to escape? Fair enough, she’d give him that one. Still, it might be nice to see her cell at least, maybe then she wouldn’t keep smacking her shin on the edge of the bed. 

She decided it was high time she started carrying a lighter on her person. Fire beats ice, right? Yes, that was an excellent idea. She filed that thought away so she could carry it out later.

Bubblegum uncrossed her legs again, the skin of her left calf had stuck to the ice and it hurt to peel it off. Sighing, resigning herself to the inevitable, she stood, cracking her spine after being stubbornly seated for so long. One hand groped behind her until she found the edge of the bed and she perched carefully on the lumpy mattress. It wasn’t much – and it smelt like dead penguin – but even its mediocre protection from the frigidness of her confines was better than nothing. 

It was night out; she was sure, not that there were any windows down here. Ice King had learned long ago (through trial and error) that keeping princesses in a room high up with lots of windows and doors was a bad idea. There were too many ways for Finn and Jake to get in and stage a rescue. Or there was that one time she’d had her whistle on her and Morrow had nearly smashed a whole wall down when she summoned him to her aid. The look on Ice King’s face that day had been highly amusing. The point was, keeping her down here in the depths of his mountain where there was only one door in or out and no windows to speak of, was much more practical for keeping people prisoner. He only had to leave a single penguin on guard outside the door and she’d never make it out.

Having been kidnapped mid-afternoon the day prior on her way back to the castle after a lovely tea party in Lumpy Space, Bubblegum was beginning to despair that she’d ever be rescued. Normally, Finn was here within the hour. Not so this time. The more malicious part of herself that was usually kept under lock and key whispered accusations in the back of her mind; blaming Flame Princess for this dilemma. Before she and Finn had started dating, he was a very reliable hero, but now, he spent so much time with her that…

No, Bubblegum shook free of those thoughts. It was good he was happy. Her own present discomfort was nothing. She’d been through far worse before Finn was even born and was perfectly capable of saving herself, thank you very much. Although, admittedly in those predicaments she’d had her sight, but no matter. She could work free of this surely.

Bubblegum sighed again, standing. It took a good long minute of uncoordinated staggering and blind fumbling to find the door to her cell. Once there, however, she began to probe the lock with her icy fingers. It was hard to get any kind of information from it, fairly safe to assume though, that she wasn’t breaking out of here without an aid of some sort.

Slumping back down onto the cot, she leaned against the wall. Part of her was resigned, having given escape up as hopeless. Unless she could trick Ice King somehow, she didn’t think there was much chance of breaking free unassisted. But surrender wasn’t in her nature, so her brain kept ticking away, trying to formulate a plan.

For what she could only assume was quite a long time, Bubblegum sat on her uncomfortable bed and thought. She discarded playing dead, screaming, and trying to use her fingers as lock picks. There was no way she was fitting through the bars of her cell and she didn’t have an implement to use in digging out either. It was all very demoralising.

At least, it was until she heard a voice echoing down the stairs outside. It sounded delightfully familiar and suspiciously like singing. Bubblegum fought her heart to calmness, refusing to get her hopes up, but her ears did perk up and focus intently on the sounds.

“ _Hey Betty, I remember your name._  
 _I left a dozen roses on your grave today._  
 _I’m in the grass on my knees, wipe the leaves away._  
 _I just came to talk for a while,_  
 _Got some things I need to say._ ”

The voice rebounded off the walls of the ice palace, echoing down the halls sounding clear the whole way. In all reality, the singer could be on the other side of the castle, but the reverberations were deceptive. Bubblegum closed her eyes, still paying more attention to the lyrics than her immediate surroundings.

“ _Now that it’s over_  
 _I just wanna hold her_  
 _I’d give up all the world to see_  
 _That little piece of heaven looking back at me._  
 _Now that it’s over_  
 _I just wanna hold her_  
 _I’ve gotta live with the choices I made_  
 _And I can’t live with myself today._ ”

The words cut off and for the longest while, silence filled the corridors. Bubblegum began to suspect that the singer had left. Perhaps having found the place deserted, decided they had better things to do. But no, the lilting melody began again.

“ _Hey Betty, I remembered your birthday._  
 _They said it’d bring some closure to say your name._  
 _I know I’d do it all different if I had the chance,_  
 _But all I got are these roses to give_  
 _And they can’t help me make amends._ ”

Now, the lyrics faded, their source evidently moving further away from Bubblegum’s cell. Her heart sank at that realisation. Perhaps rescue really was just a pipe dream.

“ _Now that it’s over_  
 _I just wanna hold her_  
 _I’d give up all the world to see_  
 _That little piece of heaven looking back at me._  
 _Now that it’s over_  
 _I just wanna hold her_  
 _I’ve gotta live with the choices I made_  
 _And I can’t live with myself today._ ”

No, that was them getting closer again. What the hell was this song even for? The words made no sense. Who in blazes was Betty?

“ _Here we are, now you’re in my arms_  
 _I never wanted anything so bad._  
 _Here we are, for a brand new start_  
 _Living the life that we could’ve had._  
 _Me and Betty walking hand in hand._  
 _Me and Betty never wanna end._  
 _Just another moment in your eyes,_  
 _I’ll see you in another life,_  
 _In heaven where we never say goodbye._ ”

Again the lyrics paused, though this time it sounded like they were coming from right outside her door. Given the deceitful nature of the palace, though, Bubblegum didn’t hold much hope for that. Mutterings floated through the corridors, drifting into her room.

“Where are you, silly old fart,” the whispers said. Or Bubblegum supposed that’s what was said. It was sort of hard to decipher them. Grumbles began now and faded into more singing.

“ _Here we are, now you’re in my arms_  
 _I never wanted anything so bad._  
 _Here we are, for a brand new start_  
 _Living the life that we could’ve had._  
 _Me and Betty walking hand in hand._  
 _Me and Betty never wanna end._  
 _Just another moment in your eyes,_  
 _I’ll see you in another life,_  
 _In heaven where we never say goodbye._ ”

Another pause. Then a shadow moved in the doorway, something gracefully edged into the room and little points of light, reflecting non-existent light, flickered as they blinked.

“ _Hey, Betty, I remember your name_. Come _on_ , Simon,” she shadow said, spinning noiselessly in the air. “Where the fudge-balls are you?”

The shadow drifted across the room to prod a bundle of sheets heaped on a chair in one corner. Ice King had tried to get her to wear some sort of ceremonial robe or something. Bubblegum had made a big fuss and punched him in the nose. That was hours ago now and he still hadn’t resurfaced.

Now, Bubblegum stood and the shadow whirled around, hissing. The shape distorted, becoming much larger, but it held no cause for fear. Not to Bubblegum anyway.

“Bonnie?” the shadow asked, shocked, deflating. Fingers snapped and lights flared to life in the room. Marceline hung a few feet away from her, red eyes wide. “What the muffins are you doing here?”

Frowning at her, Bubblegum replied with a dry wave of one hand and an equally dry, “Does it really look like I want to be here?” 

Marceline finally took in the cage and smiled sheepishly. “Uh… right. Hang on.” She glided closer; wrapping her hands around the bars and gave a good yank. The door squealed a protest, resisted for a moment and then buckled, giving out, flying off its hinges as Marceline tore the door free. She dusted her pale hands together and smiled, wider this time, with more confidence. “How’s that, Bubs? I’ll give you a lift home when I find Simon.”

“Who?” Bubblegum asked quietly, treading gently across the freezing floor. Her slippers weren’t much by way of protection from the ice.

“Si… Ice King,” Marceline replied, blinking at her. “Sorry.”

“Who’s Simon?”

Marceline rubbed her neck. “Simon was his name before he became Ice King,” she muttered, now looking everywhere but at Bubblegum. “I always forget you don’t know that.”

Bubblegum nodded, heading out the door. There were no penguin guards here now, although Gunter usually stood posted at her door. She ran a hand through her hair, hating how knotted it was.

“Bon, you’re really pale,” Marceline said quietly, following her out and trailed as usual by her ever present tail of dark hair. “Like, paler than usual. You want to go home now? I can come back for Simon.”

“No it’s fine, Marceline,” she assured the other girl. “Just cold. Don’t worry.” A thought occurred to her, words nearly falling off her tongue. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting them.

Marceline lolled through the air beside her, twisting to peer at Bubblegum concernedly. “You sure you’re alright? You’ve got that funny little frown you wear when you think too hard. What’s up?”

Her heart rolled over and died in her chest as the words spilled forth, control forgotten, “Who’s Betty?” Bubblegum wondered idly if she’d regret asking that question.

Slowly, they wound their way further down the spiral stairs, in silence for the most part. Bubblegum figured Marceline wasn’t going to answer. Her heart was rather happy about that. Better to live in a pleasing delusion than to have all your hopes and dreams crushed, right? Well, that’s what she told herself anyway.

“Betty was… was Simon’s fiancée,” Marceline eventually muttered. “I found that song on a napkin while I was cleaning out my attic. I need to know if it means anything to him.”

Ice King… had a _fiancée_? Bubblegum’s brain was very confused. “But he’s crazy,” she spluttered, causing Marceline to stop. There was a sad smile on the vampire’s face.

“He is now, yeah,” she murmured. “He wasn’t always. He was a good man, Bonnie. Considering he spends his spare time locking you up, I guess it’s hard to understand. But he was kind to me. Like a father. She loved the man he used to be. Sometimes, things just don’t work out. Sometimes you can’t have what you want.” Her expression was scarily serious now, and wistful, like she was remembering a better time. 

Bubblegum shifted uncomfortably. “I… I’m sorry,” she said, staring at the ceiling.

“Nah,” Marceline replied, forcing a little cheer into her voice. “Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago.”

She opened her mouth to say she hadn’t meant she was sorry about Ice King, but more for whatever sorrow Marceline kept hidden. Her teeth clicked shut as she thought better of it though. Instead, she followed Marceline further into the castle.

Finally, they found a large room near the bottom. It was full of junk, things from the old world, books, even a motley assortment of broken instruments. And an excavator. Bubblegum lifted an eyebrow at that. How had he even got that in here?

“Simon,” Marceline called. He was kneeling on the floor with a book open in his lap and glanced over his shoulder at her voice.

“Marcy!” he cried, leaping to his feet and waving his tome. “This is going to be the best fan fiction ever. Let me read you the first draft.” His face fell when he saw Bubblegum though, and he threw the book on the floor, icy magic coalescing around his fingertips. “What are you doing out of your room, darling?” he growled, seemingly forgetting that Marceline was in the room. “It’s your nap time; you should get some beauty sleep.”

Bubblegum opened her mouth to reply, but Marceline made a slashing gesture and cut her off. “Oh, we’re just going to go for a walk. I figured she should get to know your friends right, Simon? Gotta make sure she’s good enough for you.” She smiled blindingly at him and the magic dissipated.

Ice King frowned, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “You… you think she might not be good enough?” he asked, squinting at Bubblegum now, as though weighing her worth. “Why would you think that?”

Marceline shrugged. “She’s known to be a heartbreaker and a real wad sometimes, Simon,” she said off-handed earning a seething glare from Bubblegum. Marceline winked, but otherwise ignored her. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken, Simon. You know that makes me sad.”

Now a smile exploded on his face, pointy teeth showing through his beard. “That’s a good idea!” He shot a quick glare at Bubblegum. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Marcy. Such a good pal.”

Marceline stopped Bubblegum from raging with a pointed look and a hand on her shoulder. “Just relax, Bon,” she whispered. “Or do you not want to leave?” Bubblegum deflated, realising Marceline was pretty spot on with her words. “Hey, Simon,” the vampire said, floating over to the old man, now sitting on the floor again. “Do you know this song?”

She waved the paper under his pointed nose and he snatched it from her. “Did I write this?” he queried. “What am I saying? Of course I did. This is fantastic. Only a lyricist such as myself could’ve come up with this.” He turned pale blue eyes up at Marceline. “Who’s Betty?”

Marceline sighed. “Someone from your past, Simon,” she exhaled, rotating mid-air to leave. “A princess who loved you more than life.”

“I had a princess?” he asked, ecstatic. “Where is she now?”

“Not sure,” Marceline admitted, ushering Bubblegum from the room. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

He tapped a finger against the page. “Maybe I’ll write about it. I might remember that way. Gunter!” he bellowed.

“Wenk,” came the obnoxious reply. The little black penguin waddled in and glared at Marceline and Bubblegum before fixing his attention on Ice King.

“I need _paper_. Get me all the paper you can find. I have a new project.” He frisbied the book from before across the room, it collided with an existing stack and they all toppled over. But he was too busy digging through the piles of garbage to notice.

“Come on, Bonbon,” Marceline said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m a wad, am I?’ Bubblegum asked, as Marceline scooped her up and dived through the window in the top of the castle. “Thanks for telling me how you really feel.” She huffed, blowing hair from her face, tightening her hold around Marceline’s waist. It was difficult to deny, honestly, the feeling of anguish at hearing Marceline say that about her.

“Oh, calm your royal panties, Bubblebutt,” Marceline laughed. “I would’ve called you all sorts of names if it meant Simon would let you walk out.”

Bubblegum chewed her lip in thought. Marceline’s shirt slipped beneath her fingers and she squeezed harder, pressing her face into her friend’s shoulder. Flying was fun, sure, but her joints were still stiff with cold and maintaining a good grip was hard. Especially with the vampire’s dark hair tickling her neck.

“Will you forgive me for calling you a wad, Bonnibel?” Marceline asked softly, her voice vibrating in her chest.

“Yeah ok,” she agreed, although she hadn’t been truly mad about it. It didn’t take a great deal for her to forgive Marceline. Luckily the silly woman was pretty oblivious to that fact. “Will you tell me something?”

“Sure.”

“What is the something you want and can’t have?” That comment had been bugging her this whole time and her curiosity burned, not letting her leave it alone. 

Marceline stiffened; tensing up like the question burned her too. “Uh… oh, nothing. Just… um… a figure of speech. Yeah.”

“Come on, Marcy,” Bubblegum pressed. “I know you better than that. What’s bugging you?”

True to form, Marceline ignored her the whole trip back to the Candy Kingdom. Then, she placed Bubblegum in that curiously careful way she had on the balcony, like the brash vampire was scared Bubblegum would break. For a moment, they just stood there (well, Bubblegum stood there and Marceline floated above the railing) then Marceline smiled and flew away.

Bonnie wished she hadn’t.


	4. Leave The Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wreckers

It wasn’t very becoming of her; sitting in the living room with her eyes watering. At least no one could see. It wasn’t quite crying, not yet, but she was sure it wouldn’t be long now. Marceline didn’t like crying, but she’d found herself doing a good deal of it lately into the softness of her pillow. The dark of her bedroom was a haven where no one could see her fall apart.

She heaved a deep breath; exhaled heavily, waiting. She couldn’t stop her leg from bouncing nervously and there was a hollow feeling in her stomach. By the door were three bags, suitcases, packed, tagged, ready to leave. A key chain hung from one zipper and Marceline had almost ripped it off, thrown it away, but a shake in her hand had stopped her.

 _It’s that kind of morbid memento that makes you a sick, twisted person, Abadeer_ , she thought to herself. Scolding herself for her stupidity was the only thing that kept her from breaking down. It wasn’t healthy, but it helped.

The key scuffled in the lock and her head whipped around, eyes drying instantly as the door swung inwards. It took a moment before she stepped into the room though and when she did – finally – her eyes were glued to the suitcases. The emptiness in her stomach expanded, a black hole into which all her innards were being sucked.

Bonnie’s gaze drifted up and away from the bags then and located Marceline on the couch, then she frowned. Marceline didn’t speak. She couldn’t. There were words she’d thought about saying, things she’d wanted to spit out angrily but there was a catch in her throat where all those things got lodged.

“What’s this?” Bonnie asked, pointing to the bags. Her bags.

“It’s all your things,” Marceline told her hoarsely.

Those beautiful blue eyes widened at that, her frown vanishing for the briefest of instances before crashing back down. Bonnie dropped her handbag on the table, still boring holes in the back of Marceline’s head. When she rounded the sofa and sat carefully at the opposite end to Marceline she looked… wary. Concerned maybe… but definitely guarded.

“What’s going on, Marceline?” she questioned softly. “Why are my bags packed?”

 _This is it, Abadeer,_ she thought, inhaling another massive lungful of oxygen. _Just spit it out_.

“Because you’re leaving,” Marceline told her, voice emotionless. It was easier when she didn’t think about it. “So I packed your things for you.”

Bonnie reached a hand out and normally Marceline would’ve let it rest on her knee, she liked the warm. But today she tensed up, twitched aside. Bonnie grabbed nothing but air. “I don’t understand…” Bonnie breathed, her hand retreating.

“You’re leaving,” Marceline repeated. “I’m sick of stalemates. So this is you moving out of my apartment.”

Wonderingly, Bonnie mouthed the word ‘stalemate’, her brow furrowing again. Marceline’s heart was racing, pounding fit to burst, struggling to escape her ribcage. Her thoughts raced, but all considerations that she was making a mistake were ignored. This was the right thing to do.

“Why?” Bonnie eventually murmured.

Marceline shrugged. “We’ve been together for nearly three years now,” she explained. “And you’re still not sure if you love me. But you’re not sure enough to let me go either. And it’s not fair.” The words burned in her throat. She’d never thought she’d say them.

Bonnie’s jaw worked, searching for something to say, gears cranking over behind her eyes. The blue flicked from one of Marceline’s dark eyes to the other, desperate for some confirmation that she was joking. Desperate for some idea of what was going on.

“Marceline…” the blonde began, trying to scoot closer. Marceline froze, pressing away from Bonnie, trying to keep as much distance between them as she could. It hurt, but she couldn’t do this. “I don’t understand.”

Marceline’s mouth turned down at the corners in a sad smile. “I can’t anymore, Bon,” she whispered. “I can’t live with this. I _love_ you more than life and I can’t just hang around with your indecision anymore. I can’t. I tried.”

“I don’t… I don’t…” Bonnie tried, tears welling up in her eyes too now. Marceline stood and she was quick to follow. “I want…”

“No,” Marceline cut across her. She tried so very hard not to hear the words, the excuses. She had to blink back more tears though, pointing a shaking hand at the bags by the door. “No. I need to move on from this. I can’t do it, Bon. So don’t worry about me, don’t worry about…” she waved a hand at the floor around her feet vaguely, trying to convey the chaos and confusion she could see. “Don’t worry about any of it, not my heart, not any other part of me, not the mess you’re leaving. Just go. I’ll clean it up later.” 

Keeping her eyes open was helping, the tears couldn’t escape if her eyeballs dried up. Maybe that would work until she got Bonnie out of the apartment. Her chest vibrated with the effort of holding herself together. The black hole that originated in the pit of her stomach was still expanding, still devouring every last iota of her it could find. There was nothing left inside anymore.

Nothing but empty space.

Bonnie’s lips trembled, her hand shook, but Marceline kept the sofa between them. “I don’t like it when you cry,” Bonnie muttered. Her eyes were oceans and it took so much effort for Marceline to keep from going swimming. She’d done that in the past and it was a dead end road. “I hate it when you hurt.”

Marceline shook her head, stuffing her hands in her pockets so Bonnie couldn’t see them tremble. “Then why are you still standing there? Just to watch me drown?” Her voice hitched at the end there, a little poetic licence. Ever since Bonnie had moved in she’d been working on being more forthright with her thoughts and emotions. Marceline hoped she could at least appreciate the bitter irony.

“I… I…” Bonnie stuttered. It didn’t matter though, regardless of how hard she tried, she could never say what Marceline needed to hear. And that also was ironic. “Please… let me stay. I can…”

“No, you can’t,” Marceline sighed. “I was patient, but you can’t. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Bonnie. Just go, make it quick. Take whatever you’ve got and go.”

“I can be better,” Bonnie pleaded. “I can… Please don’t do this.”

Marceline chewed on that, fighting down a cynical laugh at the way this had turned out. Bonnie was the one who’d told her she deserved better back when she was dating Ash. Bonnie had always been there, her best friend for years, through all kinds of trauma. It was almost laugh-worthy the way everything had gone to pot. 

The shaking had spread from her hands until now even her shoulders were quivering. She wasn’t sure what emotion was causing this, it could’ve been anything. But she’d be willing to bet her next pay packet that this awful feeling roiling in her gut, turning her knees to water, freezing in her toes… this was heartbreak.

She pointed at the bags and shuffled cautiously around Bonnie to open the door. No contact, if she so much as brushed Bonnie’s sleeve all her resolve would dissipate and nothing would change. Marceline gestured to the hall outside and waited, her face detached. It was weird how her body still quaked even though she felt dead inside.

Bonnie was crying silently now, fingers closing woodenly around the handles of her suitcases. Her eyes snagged on the key chain and she bit back a sob. She spun her gaze back to Marceline, shimmering cerulean, bright as the sky on a clear summer’s day. Those eyes were mesmerising, enchanting and currently brimming with emotion of the worst kind.

“Please,” Bonnie entreated softly. “Please, don’t do this.”

Marceline sighed, ripped her gaze from Bonnie’s face lest she give in to the little demon inside screaming that she was being an idiot. “There’s nothing you can say, Bonnie. Nothing you can do. You’re gonna break my heart whichever way this ends. So leave. And leave the pieces when you go.” 

_Leave as much of me as you can. I gave you everything and I know I won’t get it all back, but some of it would be nice_ , she grumbled gloomily to herself. _I’ll sweep it all up and put it back together. And I’ll never hand any of it out again_.

Bonnie’s mouth hung open and she sniffed, wiping a sleeve across her face as she tugged her bags out the door. She stopped on the other side of the sill and turned. Red rimmed her eyes now and she was shaking so hard from holding in the tears. Marceline was torn, part of her resolute in this and the rest wanting to wrap up her friend and sing her to sleep. Her throat closed over and her eyes went glassy. It was easier that way.

“Marceline…” Bonnie rasped. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “Me too, Bonnie.” She closed the door.

And sank to the floor. Her fingers scrabbled on the carpet as though she could physically collect the fragments of herself lying shattered on the ground and put them back together. She rested her head on the door, listening to Bonnie’s now audible weeping as she trudged down the hall and out of the building.

Her chest _ached_. Yes, this was what it felt like for a heart to splinter and die. This was what it felt like to have nothing left. Cracks blazed across her carefully constructed façade and she cried. Her walls crumbled, her head hit the floor and she bawled her eyes out.

“I will always be in love with you, Bonnie,” she murmured into the carpet. “I wish this could’ve worked. But you weren’t even here.” Her voice hitched, but no matter how she scrubbed at her face, she couldn’t stop the tears.

She gave up.


	5. My Girl's Ex-Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relient K

“Do you know who my favourite person in the whole world is?”

Bonnie’s pen stilled between her teeth, shoulders tensing at the words (so completely unexpected) that sort of ejected themselves from Marceline’s mouth. She knew they weren’t thought through or they would’ve never made it out into the real world, they would’ve been chained and kept hidden behind all sorts of devilish internal workings because Marceline didn’t _share_ things. Ever.

“Um…” she replied slowly (very concerned about where this was going). Bonnie twisted around in her spot on the floor, eyeing Marceline (who was sprawled out across her bed with legs bent at the knees and glasses perched dangerously on the end of her nose while she scrawled musical notes across the sketchpad) dubiously. “No?”

“Finn,” came the matter-of-fact reply. No beating around the bush tonight then.

Bonnie felt her lungs shrink and her spine go all electric. Something scarily akin to anger and frustration washed through her then and her pen made a muffled sound as she half dropped, half threw it at the carpet. “Why?” Her reply was strangled because keeping control of her emotions was turning out to be no easy feat.

Lazily, Marceline propped her head in the hollow of one palm, elbow digging into the mattress, legs waving absently. “Because,” she responded so helpfully. “For the … what, seven months you dated him, you’ve spent all your free time with him. Now he’s been a right ass to you and here you are curled up on my bedroom floor with your early learning assignment due in three days and it’s nice. I haven’t spent much time with you lately.” Her eyes rolled back to her notebook before she muttered, “I’ve missed this.”

The logic eluded Bonnie completely.

“I don’t understand,” she said. Bonnie closed her book over, pen pressed into the pages so she didn’t lose her progress and she rotated completely so that her elbows were now also leaving marks in the mattress and she could face Marceline properly. Her knees would hurt later from being pushed into the carpet, but that was for Future Bonnie to deal with. “He’s your favourite person… why?”

“Because he’s an ass,” Marceline told her like it should’ve been obvious. “Because he started mucking around with that other chick behind your back, and now here we are.”

“So,” Bonnie mused slowly. “He’s your new favourite person because he cheated and broke my heart?”

Marceline’s expression was horrified at that (and a little bit perplexed too, Bonnie thought). “Good God, no,” she said, rolling onto her side. “I think he’s an idiot for doing that and absolutely lousy. I’m just saying that I’ve missed spending time with you and it’s good now and… I sound really insensitive don’t I?”

Bonnie laughed at the pained expression contorting Marceline face then. With her nose scrunched up and her glasses nearly falling off… it was amusing and adorable. She leaned back (because her knees were actually starting to hurt a little) and smiled. Marceline ran a hand through her short black hair and sighed.

“Sorry, Bonnie,” she grumbled. “Now _I’m_ the jackass.”

“No, you’re right,” Bonnie agreed around her smile. “We didn’t spend much time together when I was with him. I’m glad we broke up too. I just wish I knew why he’d do that.”

Marceline snorted. “Because he has mush for brains, that’s why. There can be no other reason.” She flopped back onto her stomach, head now supported by both hands in a vain attempt to shield herself from Bonnie.

It was never going to work. Bonnie simply leaned forward again and pulled one arm out from under her. “It’s alright, you know,” she told her friend. “It’s been four months since then. I’m over it.”

“Hardly,” Marceline scoffed. “You still mope around all the time and don’t talk to people. Like… like you’re scared they’ll see something you’re denying.”

She pursed her lips and glanced away, finding the frayed edging of the lamp shade fascinating. “Maybe…” she conceded quietly. “But I promise it’s not Finn’s fault anymore. It’s my fault.”

Marceline lifted an eyebrow, smirking softly. “Not enough study time, eh?” she teased. “Come on, you can tell me anything you like.” One finger reached out to prod Bonnie in the shoulder, rocking her gently. “We’ve been friends since we were… like, four or something. I can keep your secrets.”

Bonnie waved a hand, a motion implicitly understood as meaning something along the lines of ‘yeah, whatever, just shut up already’. There were no words for this, though. Nothing she could say that wouldn’t rearrange everything they’d ever known.

Honestly, what was she supposed to do? Confess that she didn’t even know how to function without Marceline in her life every day? Admit that she felt like she was burning every time Marceline smiled? Acknowledge that after so many years, and so many people who had waltzed in (and subsequently back out) of her life, Marceline had been the one constant, the one person who was always there for her no matter what? Declare that no matter the tattoos Marceline had secreted around her person so her father wouldn’t find out or the piercings in her ears or the fact that she was sarcastic and snide and anti-social or the way she held in all her emotions and never let anyone see the parts of her that were truly beautiful, Marceline was everything to Bonnie. She was precious and made Bonnie’s heart race just by being near. The way she wore her jeans, the way she layered her clothing, the way red was the only colour she wore an abundance of, the way her teeth flashed in the dark, the way she helped Bonnie study and then got her distracted were endearing and gorgeous. Was she supposed to just concede that her best friend (the one who wore her eyeliner a shade too dark or too thick and couldn’t ever contribute to a conversation without being snarky) was the only reason she got up anymore?

Bonnie decided that it was spectacularly difficult to comprehend a world without Marceline’s blacklight. There were no words. None she could speak. But she’d been well aware that for the last few years she’d been falling stupidly in love with her best friend. She was such an idiot.

(That was ultimately the reason behind her break up with Finn, she was sure. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to realise she was less interested in him and more concerned with how much he cut into her daily dose of masochism.)

Marceline was waving a hand in front of Bonnie’s eyes then. She honestly didn’t remember zoning out, but there was a little vague smile on Marceline’s face that suggested it had been a good while. Perhaps a few minutes.

“Earth to Bonnibel,” Marceline chuckled. “Where’d you go there, space cowboy?”

“Fantasy land,” she exhaled.

Marceline’s smile widened. “Is this wonderful land a place where you can tell me what’s got you looking so blue? Because that’d be great. I don’t like it when you get all moody. That’s my job and I’m good at it.” She huffed in mock irritation, but couldn’t hide the smile still tugging at the corners of her lips.

Another sigh escaped Bonnie without her even meaning to let it. “No, it’s nothing, Marcy,” she pleaded. “I promise.”

She wasn’t believed. Marceline wiggled around on the bed so she was in real peril of falling off the edge, her knees up against the wall, elbows lacking a decent amount of room. “Um… no,” Marceline said flatly. She leaned right down then and Bonnie had to jerk back lest they get too close. Bonnie’s breathing was suddenly jerky and despite her silent protestations to the contrary, it really could only be because Marceline’s lips were less than an inch from hers and her brain couldn’t cope with that. “I need to know why my _best friend_ is being a weirdo right now. Then I can make it better.”

Bonnie shook her head slightly, not daring to be more vehement just in case she bumped into Marceline’s nose. She swallowed. That fire she’d thought of before was currently burning a hole in the lining of her stomach and little embers crept along her nervous system. She wanted to twitch uncomfortably, but couldn’t. Wouldn’t allow herself to, rather. Not that the billowing heat down in her abdomen was unpleasant, it was just distracting.

The toes of Marceline’s shoes started clicking against the wall in a steady rhythm. _Dun dun-dun_ , they went. _Dun dun-dun. Dun dun-dun_. Beating in time with her stuttering heart. And Marceline was still smiling that dangerously slow smile, the dark, quirky one that made Bonnie want to bite her lip. And Marceline’s brilliant blue eyes were staring through her soul, setting her to humming with their electricity.

“Tell me a secret,” Marceline whispered. _Dun dun-dun_. Her smile tilted upwards. 

Bonnie could feel herself cracking. The liquid warm drizzling through her was eroding all her carefully constructed walls and nothing good was going to come of it. She wished she could move, get up, flee. This wasn’t her apartment; she could go back to hers and avoid the question. She could. Only… _Dun dun-dun_.

Only she couldn’t because Marceline’s eyes were pinning her in place, holding her there through sheer force of will. And the moment dragged on. _Dun dun-dun_. The longer it lasted, the more flakes of resolve fell away into the yawning abyss, the more of the warm oozed through her, the more static crackled along her veins.

 _Dun dun-dun_.

With a final quirk that pulled Marceline’s lips back slightly, a surge of molten sunshine blazed from her stomach to her ears and then plunged down again, settled just below her trembling diaphragm. Her walls washed away. _Dun dun-dun_. She reached a hand up and coiled her fingers loosely in the fabric of Marceline’s checked shirt and hauled her closer. Bonnie lifted up at the same time; the space between them (so small to begin with) was suddenly gone.

Marceline let out a tiny noise (that sounded suspiciously like a squeak), her shoes stopped tapping. Then nothing mattered because all Bonnie could feel was the softness of Marceline’s lips on hers and her brain short-circuited, all data vanishing as easy as Ctl+A, Del. And the best part was when Marceline kissed her back, smiling against her mouth, fingers running across Bonnie’s jaw.

Bonnie’s arms found themselves behind Marceline’s neck, alternating between playing with her collar and the short hair there. Her fingers sliding between dark locks, a happy hum bubbled up her throat before she could stop it. Bonnie’s lips parted almost before Marceline even asked and she sat up a little straighter, Marceline tried to pull her in tighter as she…

Fell off the bed.

They collapsed on top of Bonnie’s books in a tangle of limbs and gale of laughter. Clearly kissing like that is ill advised. Balance is a big issue and gravity doesn’t help. Bonnie would know better for –

“Let’s not try that next time,” Marceline chortled.

 _Next time_. The words were beautiful, silver bells chiming in Bonnie’s ears. She couldn’t wipe the silly grin off her face.

“So,” Marceline said, still chuckling as she heaved herself off Bonnie. “Are you going to tell me what your problem is _now_?” she asked, peering down at Bonnie, wiping a few stray hairs from Bonnie’s face.

“Not until you tell me why Finn’s your best friend,” Bonnie replied with a little more bite than usual. “Because that still doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Seriously? That doesn’t make sense to you?” Marceline looked disbelieving. “He is my favourite person because he was a right jerk to you, which prompted your break up and now I get to kiss the girl of my dreams. If he _hadn’t_ been an asshat, this wouldn’t be happening right now. I think he’s a pretty great guy.” She sort of waved her hand around ambiguously, trying to explain a concept she didn’t get herself. “Now. Why are you being all mopey?”

“I’m sorry,” Bonnie answered, just a little out of breath and flabbergasted by Marceline’s babbled confession. “Did my kissing you not get that across? Apologies. Let me rephrase it: I’m in love with my best friend and it’s kind of awkward.”

Marceline’s expression turned into something Bonnie couldn’t place then. She frowned, trying to place it (and also wondering where Marceline’s glasses had gone). It might have been devious, or impish, or… no. She understood then. It was that look Marceline always wore right before she did something idiotic. Or when she was about to reveal something incredibly funny.

She leaned right down, clouding Bonnie’s vision and once again interrupting her brain function. “Now let me tell you a secret,” she whispered into Bonnie’s ear. Her words stirred Bonnie’s hair and made her heart gallop out of control. Marceline’s nose grazed the skin just beside her ear. “I’m in love with my best friend too. It’s a funny old thing, is life.”

Cool lips met the spot behind Bonnie’s ear then and she might’ve died.

The only words Bonnie could muster after that were, “Thank god.” She wound her fingers into Marceline’s belt loops and pulled her back down. Marceline let her.


	6. Forever and Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parachute. This song is heartbreaking. u.u

It was late, her fingers drummed on the table absently, tapping out a tune she’d picked up accidentally. She didn’t know what it was, Bonnie wasn’t musical, but it came out anyway. Her eyes flicked to her phone, sitting dark and silent, mocking, on the wood in front of her. It was dark outside, it was dark on her screen, it was dark everywhere. She tried not to read into that.

Marceline wasn’t the type to ignore her like this. She would’ve called if something had happened. She would have. Marceline had told her to come home early today, that there was something she had planned, she wouldn’t have bailed. And she would’ve called.

Bonnie had always hated surprises. And this nail-biting ache inside was why. She had no idea if the waiting was because of this mysterious ‘plan’ Marceline had informed of her, smirking, this morning. She had no idea and Bonnie hated not knowing things. Hated it. And what if it wasn’t because of _the plan_? What if…

No. She shook her head, slicing off that line of thinking, it was no good. It would just make her feel sick.

Lights flashed through the window, thinking perhaps that was Marceline now. But the lights kept going, disappearing into the darkness. So much darkness.

The phone rang.

Bonnie nearly knocked her phone off the table she snatched at it so frantically. She didn’t even see the name on the screen before she pressed it to her ear and croaked out, “Hello?” She had to swallow then, hoping she’d made sense.

“Miss Bennet?” a strange voice said, an odd strident sound whining in the background.

“Yes,” she replied, voice wavering.

The man cleared his throat. “There’s been an accident. Can you come to the central hospital?”

Her heart dropped away, numbness creeping through her limbs. “What…” her voice cracked. “What’s happened? Who…” Bonnie couldn’t finish her questions. Suddenly she regretted thinking about the possibility that something had happened to Marceline. She’d jinxed herself.

“We found your name in the contacts of Miss Abadeer,” he said quietly. “Can you be here?”

“Yes,” she whispered, already snatching her keys from the table. Realising the phone had gone quiet; she hung up and grabbed her purse in shaking fingers. Before putting it away she sent a text to her best friend. In hindsight, it was probably garbled, but Rosie would understand.

It took her a long moment sitting in the car to gather up her frayed edges and calm herself. Bonnie knew she was probably in no fit state to drive, on edge as she was, but she collected as much composure as she could. Sucking in a deep breath, she keyed the ignition and headed off.

She was moving by rote, knowing how to get to the hospital from when her brother had broken his leg last year. She didn’t see anything as she drove, images flashed through her mind, scenarios playing out. Bonnie couldn’t stop them from showing like a morbid reel of possible futures. With a good deal of effort she stilled them, trying her best to think of something happy.

Settling on replaying the night Marceline proposed (an interesting night given the muggy temperature and how panicked everyone had been about the torrential downpour flooding their houses) Bonnie attempted to even out her breathing. There was no sense in being worried. None. Marceline was fine. She was.

Almost, Bonnie could even convince herself of that.

Almost.

All too soon she was pulling up in the front car park of the glowing hospital. So many lights on, they were nearly blinding as she hurried inside. The walls were pretty luminescent in that horrible way the white paint has of being, lit from so many angles by the harsh bulbs. Everything looked white, it was surreal. She tried not to draw comparisons.

Bonnie didn’t realise how close to out of breath she was until she stopped at the reception desk, gasping shallowly. “I’m… I’m here for Marceline Abadeer,” she spluttered.

The woman gave her a funny look and waved a doctor over. They exchanged a few hushed words that had Bonnie fiddling with her engagement ring anxiously. That couldn’t be good.

The doctor, a man, possibly the one who’d called her, walked over. “You can come with me,” he said gently. The gut wrenching feeling and vague semblance of nausea roiling in her stomach weren’t helped by his tone at all.

He was saying something about Marceline. Bonnie tried to pay attention, but after the words ‘motor’, ‘accident’ and ‘severe’ were used in the same sentence as Marceline’s name, she felt the encroaching numbness finally wash over her brain. This couldn’t be happening. She blinked, wondering if that stinging behind her eyes was tears or tiredness. It was hard to focus, the turns he led her down all blending together in a white-washed haze. She’d never be able to find her way back out again, everything was so disorientating.

The doctor pushed a door open silently, allowing her to go in first. Her eyes snapped straight to Marceline, wrapped in white sheets, bindings all down her left arm and leg, face purple with bruises, a strip of sticky plaster tape across her nose where it had been fixed. Bonnie lost the breath in her lungs as if she’d just been sucker punched. Her heart rattled painfully in her chest. The doctor didn’t follow her in, just closed the door again and waited outside.

Marceline opened her beautiful brown eyes and smiled when she saw Bonnie. That annoying beeping sound that’s so prevalent in hospital television dramas whispered in the back of Bonnie’s mind, her heart breaking at how messed up Marceline seemed. She sank into the chair by the bedside, instinctively taking Marceline’s hand, smiling as best she could.

“Hey, Bon,” Marceline rasped. “Looking good.”

She bit back a harsh laugh. “Yeah, not so bad yourself,” she murmured. “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine. That truck didn’t know what hit him.” She squeezed Bonnie’s hand reassuringly, but it was weak and didn’t provide much by the way of encouragement.

“What was the surprise today?” Bonnie questioned, trying to distract herself.

Marceline swallowed visibly, sighing. “I went to the realtor today. The paperwork finally went through, so that house is ours now. The one outside of town.”

Bonnie’s watery smile took on a hint of sunshine then. “You bought it? But…”

“Not ‘buts’,” Marceline cut in. “Yeah, I bought it. You were so taken with it so I worked something out with the seller. Done deal. It’s all ours.”

Carefully, Bonnie leaned in to press a kiss to Marceline’s forehead (it seemed to be the least purple). “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

Staring into Marceline’s eyes, Bonnie was struck by how awful she looked. This actually was happening and she didn’t know how she was going to cope. There were so many ‘what ifs’, so many things left unspoken, undone, unfinished. She wanted to cry.

Standing (ignoring Marceline’s shocked expression), Bonnie headed for the door. She opened it just the tiniest crack and muttered to the doctor, too low for Marceline to hear. He seemed surprised by her request, but it was erased quickly by compassionate understanding and hurried off to do as she asked.

While she waited, Bonnie sank back into the chair beside Marceline, now ignoring the questioning stare she was being fixed with. Marceline was big on surprises, anyone could confirm that, but Bonnie rarely replied in kind. She smiled teasingly and Marceline’s expression turned suspicious.

“What’ve you got planned, dork?” she asked warily.

“Wait and see.” Her fingers unconsciously winding back between Marceline’s.

Thankfully it didn’t take long before the doctor returned, an older fellow in tow and (happily, Bonnie noticed) Rosie. Her friend gave her a sympathetic smile but stayed by the door. Marceline’s eyes darted between all the people suddenly crowding her room; she spared Rosie a smile, and then began to frown at the elderly man.

“Who’s this?”

“The hospital chaplain,” the doctor explained, extending a hand to Bonnie. “The couple in the room beside yours said you could borrow these,” he told her, tipping the little golden bands onto her palm.

Marceline’s eyes went wide as she realised what was going on. “We’re getting _married_?” she exclaimed as loud as she could (or dared maybe, given the situation). “Like this?”

“Yes,” Bonnie told her flatly. “Now shut up and go with it.”

She got nothing for that except a blazing smile and another far-too-gentle squeeze of her hand. Then the chaplain started speaking, but honestly, Bonnie wasn’t listening. She was too busy staring at Marceline. The beeping of the machine filled her mind, like an egg timer, reminding her that this reality was so very fragile.

Bonnie murmured vows without even thinking about them, the words falling out in a warm rush. They were probably mangled, but she didn’t care. Marceline smiled at her the whole time. “Whether happy or sad or whatever,” Bonnie told her. “We’ll be together.”

The egg timer in her head slowed as Marceline slid the ring on her finger and took a deep breath. Her words were so quiet, little more than an exhalation. “I’ll always love you, Bonnie,” she said. “Even when I’m not there; forever and always.”

Cautiously, Bonnie twisted the other ring onto Marceline’s finger (a symbolic gesture only since they had to return the bands later) and kissed her. The beeps were still steady, but they sounded further apart now and Bonnie couldn’t stop the tears that leaked out of her eyes. They had to make it through the night. The words from the doctor, so vague and unclear before, echoed in her mind. _Make it through the night_.

She didn’t notice as the doctor, the chaplain and Rosie all filed out, she simply crawled onto the bed and curled up beside Marceline. She wasn’t going anywhere until the sun came up. For better or worse, she’d be here through everything.

 

____

 

Morning light filtered through the sparse curtains, dancing across her eyelids, painting their insides red and yellow. Bonnie wasn’t willing to open her eyes. The dream she’d been submerged in was too pleasant to give up just yet.

She couldn’t hear anything. Her eyes snapped open and she blinked blearily at the light suddenly blinding her. Not a sound.

Gasping, her locational awareness crashing down around her, Bonnie sat up. Or she tried to anyway. Her face was mostly buried in a pillow and there was something around her waist holding her down. Why couldn’t she hear anything?

Bonnie rolled over, panic grabbing her insides in a death grip, worry almost pulling her under. Then she heard it. The soft beeping, strong and steady. She almost died of relief then and that _would_ have been ironic.

Marceline’s eyes were lidded against the sunlight coming in the window, but she was smiling. It concealed the pain for the most part, but there was a hint of it in the tightness of her expression. Bonnie smiled back.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“Perfect,” came the hoarse reply.

“Don’t lie to me, Abadeer.”

Marceline blinked. “Abadeer?”

Bonnie sighed, tucking her face into Marceline’s shoulder. “Hmm,” she hummed. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“But…” Marceline stammered. “Didn’t… what about… I thought…”

She chuckled. “Did you really want to be Marceline Bennet?”

Marceline’s eyes widened. “You took my name?”

“Yes. Now, how do you really feel?”

She didn’t answer; Marceline had this look on her face that Bonnie couldn’t place. Like a kid seeing Disneyland for the first time. Amazement and wonder sketched across every last line of her face. “I’m fantastic,” Marceline finally breathed. “You’re my wife now. All I had to do was get hit by a truck.” She chuckled and then coughed, frowning.

“Take it easy,” Bonnie warned. “If you die now that truck driver is going to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his pitiful short life. How do you _feel_?”

Marceline shuddered, sighed, rested her head on Bonnie’s shoulders. “Other than strangely happy and pumped, which no doubt has to do with all those feel-good drugs they filled me with last night?” She looked over at Bonnie. “I feel like I was hit by a truck.”

Bonnie smiled and kissed her _wife’s_ cheek. Damn, that would never get old. Then she bit her lip, frowning.

“Normally I find that expression adorable,” Marceline told her quietly after a moment. “But I’m thinking given the circumstances it’s only right for me to ask why you look so upset.”

Bonnie wound her fingers between Marceline’s and held them up, twin bands of gold glinting in the morning light. “We have to buy wedding rings,” she grumbled.


	7. Overburdened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disturbed

The devil has a smile. One he uses on his subjects. It looks benign enough, mostly teeth, the kind of broad smile one expects from a kindergarten teacher or actress receiving an award. But the smile never touches his eyes. His beady little black eyes that pierce the soul and suck out all warmth and will to live. 

She stands before him as he strolls the length of the line. He straightens his tie, shuffles his lapels around and peers at her. She feels the shell of herself shiver under that gaze. His grin… it shifts somehow – somehow unnatural – mouth full of darkness and nothing, teeth like razors.

“Bonnibel,” he hisses by way of greeting. It would probably be more reassuring without the pointy teeth thing he has going on. His incisors lengthen. She tingles.

“Hunsen,” she replies, curt, clipped. “Why am I here?”

“You’re dead,” he states, simply, shrugging. “I figured a brainiac such as yourself would have realised that by now.” He gestures broadly then, in a way he no doubt fancies is grand. “See how you’re surrounded by all these good deceased folks? Means you’re dead too, dear.” He swings that painful smile her way again, the emptiness filling him from top to bottom.

She folds her arms, tapping a shoe (neither of which she really has anymore). Somehow, she’s lost the power in this scenario and she wants it back. “I can see that much, Hunsen. I mean why am I here? Down here with you.”

His brow furrows then and the smile twitches upwards in a way that’s painfully familiar. It becomes a smirk, a dangerous one, full of promises that she won’t like. It’s not the same smirk she’s used to, the one that promises mischief and laughter. No, this is deadly.

“You wouldn’t care to hazard a guess, would you, dear?” For some reason, the way he says ‘dear’ makes her tremble. The air feels cold even as it warms her. Her brain isn’t working right, she feels, there’s too many conflicting variables. Too much. Too much.

And she was an unbeliever after all. It must be ten times worse in this instance. Surely all these other souls weren’t so poorly.

“I don’t play guessing games,” she replies. Her voice attempts strength, but a waver creeps in anyway, shredding all pretensions of control.

He laughs then, and the sound makes her quake. “I am the lord of the undead, dear. I make the choices here. Guess.”

“I’m not a murderer,” she tells him staunchly. “And I’m not a liar or a thief. I am a doctor. So tell me why I’m here.”

“Oh no,” he all but giggles. “You’re so much more than that. So much more than any of that. And for your contribution, I have a special place laid out for you.” His eyes twinkle with mirth, only it isn’t quite mirth, it’s more like violence. He throws a hand out, a line glows in the air in front of them, it… it _rotates_ (that’s the only word she can think to describe it with), becoming a window. A window like a television screen. “You are my greatest patron,” he breathes. The air shifts around her then and ice runs down her spine. Or she thinks it does, Bonnibel is no longer certain she has a spine.

The window flickers fitfully, cutting through hash with images of a city. Her city. At lengths, she recognises the building where she and her colleagues had been conducting research. A cure. Her memory feels fuzzy, broken, wrong. But the cure she recalls. It was for… for…

AIDS.

Yes that’s right. She was on a team of scientists hoping to cure it. They’d had many promising breakthroughs along the road. The road… She frowns then, trying to remember faster. Hunsen watches her expectantly.

“We found it,” she whispers, looking up into the eyes of death. “We found the cure. We administered it to thousands of people. No one has to die anymore.”

Hunsen’s gaze was steady. “Do you know why you looked into it?”

“For…” Her brain goes fuzzy again and she is momentarily unable to recall. Then it hits her, eyes lighting up with memory. “For Marceline,” she replies. “She was sick with it, dying. I… I saved her.”

That’s when Hunsen’s evil grin subsides and that makes Bonnie rather anxious. Fear. Absolute terror claws at her innards as his expression changes.

The screen shifts as he flicks his fingers. It zooms in on the streets. They were so picturesque from on high, but up close… Her terror is rivalled now only by horror.

Bonnibel doesn’t think she has knees anymore, but she feels herself sink slowly, losing height as she watches the window. It is utter madness. The streets are crawling with… with… _beings_. She hesitates to call them people. They’re not. They are monsters.

Like in a particularly ghastly film, the ‘camera’ pans with a boy, no more than eight as he runs down the sidewalk. One of the creatures steps out from behind a vehicle (or what’s left of it, the burnt husk is pitiful) and grabs the boy in hands like talons. The creature’s head… is reptilian almost and tilted at the incorrect angle, scraps of brown hair cling to the scaly scalp. The whole body is contorted grotesquely, joints bent backwards flop, grope, reach. 

The claws of its other forelimb close around the boy’s head. It opens a maw full of green ichor and needle teeth, it snaps once, taking the now screaming boy’s arm at the elbow. The boy’s head pops. Brain matter sprays the distorted monstrosity. It lumbers off.

The camera pans around again. Similar scenes are played out all along the street. A fire breaks out in one shop. Tins spill from the doorway as a man stumbles out. He is pursued by a horde of staggering _things_ , each one different, each one terrible and fearsome. None of them catch him. None of the ones _following_ him catch him.

A different creature with a head mashed to a pulp and skull antlers gores him with a spine on its arm that can only be a protruding radius. Cans fall from the man’s arms as he slumps forward. Blood pools in the corners of his mouth and as the beast slides its arm spike out, intestines slip free, puddling on the asphalt.

The whole view shifts this time, camera whirling through cityscapes and parks. It stops in a cemetery. At first, Bonnibel is confused. Then she sees it.

And she breaks down. 

Her lack of physical orifices this time is no hindrance to her screams. Wails of such pure agony that they alone could be utilised in the punishment of other sinful spectres. The phantasms around her shuffle, back away, give her room as her ectoplasmic form hunches in on itself, trying to stop existing. Only that can’t happen here.

Creeping through the cemetery are humans. Real ones. Proper ones, untainted by whatever plague haunts the monsters. They are armed. In their wake, they leave corpses. The broken bodies of the creatures that attack them.

It is one shattered carcass that the camera fixes on. One that can’t be mistaken. Not for Bonnibel. Not with the hair – so dark and long and perfect – that haloes a once beautiful face. If not for the pronounced demonic traits displayed, if not for the way her arms were crooked, the gashes in her chest and stomach, she could’ve been sleeping.

Ghosts can’t cry. They have no fluid left, they are condensed air, or so she’d been told. Bonnibel hadn’t believed her when she’d said her dad was the devil and all those nightmares and fairy stories were true. It was codswallop. Only it wasn’t. And ghosts can’t cry.

But Bonnie tried.

Her ectoplasm shuddered as the tears that didn’t exist tried to run loose. 

Marceline was dead.

“Worse than dead,” Hunsen tells her flatly as if not speaking about his own flesh and blood. “Come.”

Bonnibel finds herself unable to resist his command and follows, leaving the line, drifting along in his wake. The image of Marceline’s pale, lifeless visage trails her. She wishes it would stop. She wishes the ethereal ache in her chest would go away. She wishes she could stop feeling.

Hunsen leads her – or drags her, she’s not sure which – to a wall. A great arching wall of grey in a land of infinite blankness. The wall has a soft glow to it and is as transparent as clean glass. As they near it, Bonnie begins to make out the silhouettes of what she perceives to be souls. 

They mill beyond the wall. Aimless. Empty.

Hunsen stops her before it, the screen still with them. He points. Her eyes follow, unbidden. The souls are nothing. They have little glowing spots that mark their eyes, they have rough features, vague semblances of the faces they wore in life, but they hold no sentience. Not like the souls she’d been with moments prior. Those spirits had life, awareness… These though… These were proper husks. An egg shell with no white or yoke. Drained. Empty.

“These are the remnants of the people who became those monsters,” Hunsen informs her. “They are corralled here because they upset the souls of what used to be the living. They have nothing left in them. The disease purges all humanity from them upon infection and so, in death, they have no true soul.”

Bonnie blinked, uncomprehending.

With a sharp gesture from Hunsen, her gaze drifts back to the souls in line. “They are the dead you sent here. You with your life saving cure.” Bitterness seeps into his words at that. “You think to save them, but now they’re down here. And these,” he jerks a thumb at the wall. “These are less than that.”

A bubble forms in the wall then, pulling with it a husk. Bonnie squints, but can’t make it out. She wants to ask, but Hunsen doesn’t let her.

“Marceline gave up her immortality for you,” he says and she can hear sorrow. “She knew the disease from her mother would kill her. But she assured me you could fix it. And so she was mortal. And now… And now I don’t even have her soul to grieve over.” Hunsen’s voice shakes, cracks. Bonnie feels sad for him. “You took her. And this is your punishment. For your contribution to my population, I can’t properly torture you. Not really, you’re a good donor. But for stealing my daughter away from me eternally… For that, you will suffer.”

The bubble arrives at the wall as he stops talking and Bonnie falls apart again. It is Marceline’s husk contained within. She stares at Bonnie blankly, unseeing, unfeeling, unrecognising.

Behind her, the screen plays images. Still shots and short sequences of footage. All is of Marceline in life. All is of her with Bonnie. Her soul, small and so fractured already, splits down the middle. This is the worst punishment she could imagine.

A cage appears around her, trapping her in an island of darkness with the flimsy remnants of the woman she loved – _loves_ – most in all of existence and the best of their memories. She reaches out to touch the husk. It doesn’t acknowledge her.

From the screen, Marceline laughs.

“Enjoy eternity.”

Bonnie ruptures.


	8. Island

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Starting Line.

Bonnibel had never been away on holidays in her life. Sure, there was that one time she went to camp in eighth grade with her history class, but that didn’t count because it was educational. And driving out to her grandparents’ farmstead for the occasional long weekend didn’t count either because she was with family. She’d never gone somewhere far away by herself or with just one friend for company. Never. Not once in her life.

Until now, that is.

The curving white sand stretched away to infinity, crystalline water sparkling with faux-middle-of-the-day stars. Trees of the sort she honestly hadn’t expected (given popular depictions of beach-scapes) shaded the dunes. Beyond them – out of sight at present, concealed among the foliage – were a collection of… well, huts she supposed was the most apt word for them.

This is where Rosie had dragged her for their break. She’d been hesitant at first; it was a very long sixteen hour flight from home and then another three hour ferry ride. But standing here now, toes wiggling in the fine sand, skin tingling with the onset of sunburn, eyes hidden behind the darkest pair of sunglasses she could find… Bonnie decided it wasn’t so bad. So Rosie had run off with Jake on day two and Finn had met that nice girl with hair like a carrot the first evening leaving Bonnie pretty much by herself, it was alright.

She had a book and solitude and music pumping into her ears and food whenever she felt like hopping across the hot bitumen to the huts (having once again forgotten her thongs). She’d made friends with the nice fellow at the market in town and thoroughly enjoyed the laid back atmosphere the whole place oozed. She hadn’t been in the water yet. This beach was secluded and lacked shark nets (something she disapproved of on principle, but she wasn’t too uptight to acknowledge them as a safety precaution).

Noon was approaching of day four (out of some indefinite number of days since Rosie never made concrete plans, spouting misremembered quotes about spontaneity and adventure) and Bonnie had taken up the practice of not storing food in the huts. Some strange creature had invaded her kitchen the first night and stolen an apple. There had been much shrieking and broom waving on her part and much laughter on the part of the local girl who’d intervened.

Consequently, Bonnie was faced with the somewhat daunting notion of hauling herself into town to find something to eat. And right now, town seemed so very far away. Maybe she could keep something in her fridge for such instances as this. Or a packet of biscuits…

She squinted through her glasses at the sun, checking the time (wearing a watch in a salt-air environment was ill-advised). Bonnie rolled her lip under, frowning. Yes, food sounded good. She heaved herself off the shifting sand, brushing a few loose grains from her arm as she tucked her book back into the folds of her bag.

It wouldn’t take long to get into town, but it would _feel_ so much longer without that layer of rubber between the soles of her delicate feet and the overheated road. She dropped her bag off at her hut (the one she had to herself because they’d played musical huts the first night here) and slipped her thongs on. It was instant relief really, and she no longer had to play hopscotch across the road. Of course, the other side of this particular equation was how the rubber would melt to the road if she stood in one place for too long. They were only cheap anyway.

Town was a generous term to apply to this place (rather grandiosely named Adventure) since it consisted of about three shops: the market (an all-purpose establishment that sold everything from vinyl records to pizza), a take-away fish and chip shop that did a roaring trade, and a clothing store that thankfully didn’t stock those silly Hawaiian shirts. The last did double as a surf shop though and pretty much anything involving water could be found there. Including fish tanks (no fish, though, oddly enough).

The market was run by a cheerful fellow called Todd. She didn’t know his last name and didn’t really care. His smile widened when she walked in, the bell above the door tinkling merrily. There was one other person in the store today, a peculiarity given the size of the population here. The woman was particularly engrossed in studying stacks of albums across the shop though and Bonnie paid her no mind.

“Good afternoon, Bonnibel,” he chirped. “What sort of meal do you want today?”

She pursed her lips in thought (not genuine, this was a routine they’d set up on day one). “Perhaps pizza today, Todd,” she exhaled after another moment. “It seems delightfully unhealthy.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “We have one with pineapple. Would that placate your inner health nut?” It was a cheeky grin that accompanied this question.

“I do believe it might.”

Todd laughed, retrieving a boxed pizza from the freezer in the back while she ran a finger along the lines of chip packets. She settled on one and headed back to the counter. He rang the price up and bagged the items before leaning across the counter, eyes narrowing.

“And have you gone for a swim yet?” he asked pointedly.

“I have not,” Bonnie admitted. Before she could go on, however, she was interrupted.

Behind her something clattered loudly. Bonnie spared only a glance, noting the woman now staring at her with a scandalised expression (a dropped CD seemed to be the culprit in question for the racket). The woman’s mouth worked for a moment, eyes darting between Bonnie and Todd.

“You haven’t been in the water yet?” the woman called across at her. “What is your problem?”

“Given how my friends have left me to my own devices and there is absolutely no one to hear me scream should something go wrong,” Bonnie said wryly. “I’d say I’m justified in avoiding it. Plus, I’m outside my comfort zone just being here. No need to push it.”

The woman lifted her finger. “No,” she said, waving that finger about pointlessly. “No. You’re here on holiday right?”

“Right.”

“Get your butt in the water. That’s what it’s there for.”

“I’m not going off by myself,” Bonnibel maintained. “I don’t care that the beach here is a tourist attraction.”

The woman stormed over to her, previous engagement forgotten. “I’m sorry, but that’s not a good enough reason.” She jabbed a finger at Bonnie’s chest. “You’re such a weirdo. You don’t go to the beach and then… and then not go to the beach,” she spluttered. “It’s like… against nature or whatever.”

Todd was smiling at them, clearly amused. “I’d say she’s entitled to her opinion,” he said softly.

“This opinion is wrong,” the woman said staunchly. “I’m fixing it. Make that two pizzas, Todd, heat them up and grab some Pepsi while you’re at it. I’m going to make sure you swim.” There was bite in her words as she spoke to Bonnie then; a stubborn sort of anger, as though Bonnibel had offended her by not swimming.

Bonnie huffed, “I think my opinion is perfectly valid.”

“Nope.” 

The woman scooped up the bag containing Bonnie’s (and now her) items without so much as batting an eyelid. She was walking out the door before Bonnie even registered what had happened. Bonnibel glanced over at Todd, mouth open, eyes wide.

“Yes,” he sighed. “She’s always like that. There’s no sense arguing with her. Just go along with it is the only advice I have.” He winked.

Bonnie sighed and paid for the food before heading for the door, waving belatedly at him as she stepped outside. The sun crashed down around her again unexpectedly. Across the street, the woman with oodles of dark hair bundled atop her head was glaring at her. Bonnibel dropped her sunglasses back onto her nose and glared back, crossing the road to her.

“If you’re going to hijack my day,” Bonnie began flatly. “Can I at least have a name to defame?”

The woman’s mouth quirked upwards. “I’m Marceline,” she said, obviously biting down laughter. “Marceline Abadeer.”

Bonnie gasped melodramatically. “And here I was thinking no one in this place had a last name.”

Now it was proper laughter gurgling up Marceline’s throat. “Todd’s just a mysterious guy. He likes to maintain an aloof attitude of uncaring wisdom. He’s a right idiot. Do I get a name to bellow later when you’re being uncooperative?”

“Bonnibel Bennet,” she found herself saying with much less resistance than planned.

“Cool,” Marceline said with a decisive nod. “Plan of attack. You are coming with me. The end. Consider this the only warning you’ll ever get before someone kidnaps you.” It was said with a perfectly straight face and almost no emotion. The only thing that convinced Bonnie she was joking was the slow, crooked smile that crept across her face twenty-eight seconds later.

And even then…

Bonnie maintained absolutely zero expression. “Sure. Where to first then?”

Which prompted Marceline to burst into laughter. “Oh good. This is good. First we have to stop by my place. I have some stuff to grab.” She turned to walk off, an eyebrow lifting as she glanced back over her shoulder. “You know, some rope, duct tape, maybe a machete.”

“So the stuff you keep lying around for when you abduct random holidayers,” she replied casually, following. “Makes sense. You can’t expect me to stay in whatever rape dungeon you have lying around without the basics.”

The smile Marceline wore didn’t so much as waver. “Exactly,” she whispered in a way she probably hoped sounded dangerous. It didn’t, there was too much amusement in her tone.

It turned out that Marceline lived in a flat nestled in behind the surf shop and (Bonnie supposed from her key chain) was the owner as well. She waved Bonnie in first, dropping the bag of food on a table in the entrance. Curiosity snatched her by the collar and Bonnibel felt compelled to follow Marceline in and look around.

There wasn’t much to the place though. The kitchen and lounge were one area and there was no dining table. Off the small space were three doors, which Bonnie assumed would be a bedroom, bathroom and possibly closet. It was to the suspected closet that Marceline headed.

Not one word was said as Marceline pulled out a back pack, plopped it on the floor and began to stuff things inside. Bonnie edged closer, but Marceline’s body was blocking her view. After a moment, Marceline straightened again and kicked the door shut, smirking as she motioned out the door. Bonnibel paused to grab the grocery bag before preceding her outside.

The silence remained as they wandered down the street towards the other end of town. Bonnie frowned; the local docks were along this way, the pier where residents went to fish. Strangely though, that’s not where Marceline lead her. Admittedly, when her guide veered off the dirt road (pushing through shrubbery and pointing out fallen trees so Bonnie didn’t trip), Bonnie was surprised.

She did almost fall down the slope though; it was only Marceline’s outflung arm that prevented her from pitching over and rolling down the hill. As her eyes adjusted and her panic subsided, she realised a tumble to the bottom would’ve been very bad. The base of the hill was mostly rock and beyond that was the ocean. Very bad.

“Where are we even going?” she asked, exasperated.

Marceline’s smile was quirky and sly again. “To my rape dungeon, didn’t we already discuss this?” At Bonnie’s flat look she laughed. “Okay, alright, there’s a beach down here that you’ll love. No sharks. They can only get in at high tide and if they do they’ll suffocate before they can get back out again. You’ll be fine.”

Bonnibel’s suspicious gaze trekked from Marceline’s smiling face down to the water and back again. “There’s no sand here,” she noted.

“Come on,” Marceline laughed at her. “I promise it’s better than you think.”

And she was right. The rocks were more like a wall than anything else, a big curving arch of stone that wrapped around a crescent sliver of white sand and greenery. It crawled out into the water on both sides, jutting up in places, forming a natural bay, explaining the almost unnatural calm of the water. At high tide, the water must cover the rocks; it would be the only way to explain Marceline’s assurances that sharks were rare. The bay (or glorified rock pool more like) seemed deep though.

Marceline dropped her bag beneath a tree, pulling the groceries from Bonnie’s hand and letting them fall down there too. The soft drink would probably be flat when it was opened later. That’s not even mentioning the pizza.

Bonnie wasn’t afforded the opportunity to ask after any of that though. Marceline grabbed her wrist and dragged her towards the water. She baulked when she felt it on her toes though.

“I don’t want to go swimming,” Bonnibel said tartly.

“Why? You afraid?” Marceline snickered, rolling her eyes.

Bonnibel crossed her arms. “I’m merely concerned about not seeing what’s going on around me,” she replied. “Anything could be in that water.”

“It’s the _ocean_ , princess,” the other woman groaned. “Of course there’s stuff in it. You should be in it too. Did you seriously come on holidays to a beach with no intention of getting wet?”

Bonnie looked away. What she had no intention of doing was granting that silly question with an answer. Marceline took it the wrong way.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, all traces of amusement vanishing. “Did you even bring swimmers? Or did you just pack…” She motioned at the tank top and shorts Bonnie was wearing.

“Naturally I brought swimmers,” she nearly snapped. “I’m wearing them. It would be impractical to go to the beach without them.”

Marceline peered at her for a moment, then walked back up the beach towards the tree. Her feet squeaked in the fine sand. Bonnie didn’t turn around; she wouldn’t give the stubborn woman the satisfaction.

Consequently, she was mightily alarmed when she was shoved in the back. She staggered forwards a few steps, lost her balance when the water slithered in between her ankles and the sand shifted beneath her, and landed on her butt. Marceline smiled widely.

Then she made a mistake.

She wandered over, arms swinging by her sides. “See?” she said, grinning triumphantly down at Bonnie. “The water isn’t so bad.”

Bonnie stuck her hand out wordlessly, glaring. Marceline – still fighting down hysterical laughter by the look of it – clasped it, trying to haul her up. It didn’t work. Bonnibel’s glare turned into a smile then, a dark one, and she heaved with all her might, yanking Marceline off her feet and into the water too.

“Hey!” Marceline exclaimed, getting a face full of seawater. Bonnie had to roll aside so she wasn’t caught beneath the other woman. Marceline flicked hair out of her face and glared at Bonnie, it lacked spark however and she burst out laughing again. “Nice.”

“You’re infuriating,” Bonnie said, smiling.

“I try.” She flopped over in the water then, her shirt ballooning around her. “Will you go swimming with me now?”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “Does this not count?”

Marceline flailed an arm, splashing water in Bonnibel’s face. “Not really. My six year old nephew does this every day.”

Bonnie splashed her back. “Nephew?”

“He lives on the mainland with his folks and grandfather,” Marceline said, dropping sand all along Bonnie’s leg. “Your family?”

“Younger brother, mum and dad all live on the mainland too,” Bonnibel replied. “No extended family. I can count all my friends on one hand too; most of them are here with me.”

Marceline smiled, now having successfully buried one of Bonnie’s feet. “I don’t have many friends either. They all live on the island.” She shifted her weight so she could pile sand on Bonnibel’s other foot.

“Life goals?”

“I run the surf shop,” Marceline said with a shrug. “And I play in the band at the pub on most nights too. One day we’ll make it big.” She closed her eyes.

Bonnibel took the opportunity to drop sand on her nose. Her eyes shot back open and she swiped at it, wrinkling her nose. “I want to be a doctor,” Bonnie told her, letting more sand slip through her fingers onto Marceline’s neck. “Anything would be fine. I just want to help people.”

“How selfless.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think you understand how important music is to this process,” she said drily. “It wouldn’t be real study without music.”

And Marceline smiled. “Good to know. What do you listen to?”

“Anything that strikes my fancy.”

“Good answer.”

“What instrument do you play?”

“Bass guitar primarily,” Marceline said, the last of the sand gone from her face. “Piano sometimes.”

“That’s cool. My mum tried to get me into violin when I was younger, but they spent more time repairing the damn thing than anything else,” Bonnie told her with a grimace. “Music is amazing, but never something I was ever any good at.”

“Each to their own, I guess,” Marceline said. “I never liked science. So… We match.”

Bonnie snorted. “If you want.” She prodded Marceline’s ear where half a dozen piercings looped through the cartilage. “If by ‘match’ you mean ‘are completely different’.”

Marceline just kept smiling. “Swim?” she asked again.

“Sure.”

“No. Not the shore. Swim.”

Bonnie pushed her over.

 

\---

 

Once past her sandpaper exterior, Marceline was rather engaging (her pranks were frequent and unexpected, but not malicious). It would have been inexplicable; the way Bonnie found herself heading back to the beach the next day (and the day after, and the day after that) except that Marceline was quite charming in her odd way. 

The second day Bonnie found her on the beach with a banjo under a tree. Her fingers danced across the strings and she sang and Bonnibel was captivated. She stood on a rock watching for seeming ages. At least until Marceline’s gaze drifted up to her and the smirk that exploded across her face ruined it. Bonnie glared back.

Marceline patted the sand beside her and (not as hesitantly as she should have) Bonnie sat. They just… talked. All afternoon. And sang, admittedly, when Marceline was pressured into it. Bonnie could see why she wanted to be in a band.

Every day after that, Marceline somehow wheedled herself into Bonnie’s plans. Rosie gave her a questioning look on day three when they went to the headland for lunch and Marceline tagged along, hands stuffed in her jeans, smiling teasingly at Finn and Jake (who both loved her). Bonnie could only shrug; she had no other explanation to offer.

It took a week. Then Marceline no longer seemed like a stranger to Bonnibel. More of a fixture than anything else. Sort of like old furniture, the kind that’s always there, just where you left it, when you need it most. The same kind that you still sometimes trip over in the middle of the night and stub your toe, but you can’t hate it because it’s so easy to just… fall asleep.

The water reflected her confounded expression back at her. One week. Her reflection was choppy, sometimes it looked like she was frowning, others like she was smiling. Truthfully, she didn’t know which was more apt. Both, most likely.

Darkness covered her briefly before the sun prickled at her skin and Marceline plopped onto the warm rock beside her. Bonnie had to squint to make out her face. The sun sat low on the horizon so her new friend wasn’t much more than a silhouette and a cloud of inky black hair.

“Sup?” Marceline asked. “You going for a swim? Or are you still confined to the paddle pool?”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “Maybe I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Nobody does, Bon.”

Her heart caught in her throat. “Bon?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Marceline’s teeth flashed in the dying light. “Yeah. Those are the first three letters of your name.”

“Well, alright then, _Mar_ ,” she replied, trying not to sound tense.

“Do you want to go to the pub tomorrow?” Marceline asked quietly, fiddling with the cord on her pants. She was smiling though. Her feet stirred the water, disrupting Bonnie’s reflection.

“Why? I don’t drink.”

Marceline shrugged. “I’m singing tomorrow night. Thought you might like to come and watch.”

Bonnie smiled. “Yeah, sure. That might be nice.”

“Alright then. It’s a date.” Marceline’s eyes went really wide. “I mean… no… I just…”

“It’s fine,” Bonnibel laughed, bumping her in the shoulder. “I know what you meant.”

“Good.” Marceline prodded the rock next to her with two fingers. She still looked really anxious. “Sorry.”

Bonnibel bit her bottom lip, fighting the urge to grin. “Marceline?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want it to be a date?”

The other woman fell quiet. She kept poking the rocks. Finally she muttered, “Of course not. That’s silly.”

But her face had contorted into the most adorable mix of frown and pout that Bonnie couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Hey,” she said around her chortles to gain Marceline’s attention. “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“Mind what?”

“A date.”

She blinked. “Really? You know what that means right?”

“Definitely.”

“Huh.” Marceline was still fiddling with the rock. Then she shifted – twisted at the waist – so she was facing Bonnie properly. “So… um… I could…” It was hard to tell in the low light, but Bonnie would have sworn she went red. “Never mind.”

Bonnibel closed her fingers around Marceline’s wrist. “Just relax, alright?”

The red crept down Marceline’s cheeks to her neck. She nodded; turning her hand over so she could wind her fingers through Bonnie’s. And Bonnibel didn’t think she’d ever seen someone be so adorably awkward in her life.

At least, she did until Marceline slid off the rock and pulled Bonnie into the water after her. Then she shrieked. The water wasn’t quite deep enough that she had to put effort into not going under, but she was so surprised that it happened anyway. When she surfaced it was to glare pure venom at Marceline.

“I might rethink that date, Abadeer,” she growled.

“Oh come on, that was funny,” Marceline pleaded. Her sopping hair plastered all across her face as she beamed at Bonnie. Marceline paddled closer to help Bonnie sweep hair out of her face.

“I’m soaking now,” Bonnie noted. “And this shirt will go transparent.”

There was a dark glint in Marceline’s eyes when she leaned in. “Maybe I knew that would happen,” she whispered.

Bonnie had no idea where this sudden burst of brazen flirting had come from, but it set off sparklers in her stomach. For whatever reason, Bonnibel found it hard to breathe. Maybe she was drowning. She couldn’t stop staring, mesmerised.

“I want to kiss you,” Marceline muttered. Her dark eyes searched Bonnie’s face for any indication that she wouldn’t want it too. The gap between them closed painfully slowly. Marceline was giving her every opportunity to say ‘no’.

It never happened; Marceline’s breath was warm on Bonnie’s skin, eyes almost black her pupils were so dilated. Although Bonnie’s brain knew that part of it could be attributed to the lack of sunlight bleeding over the horizon. Blood pounded in her ears anyway because the rest of her knew it was for another reason altogether. One she liked more.

Marceline pressed her lips carefully against Bonnie’s, still waiting to be pushed away. Bonnie pulled her closer instead. She tasted like the sea.

 

\---

 

Bonnibel had never really been on a proper holiday before. She’d been born and raised in the same city her whole life (all twenty-two unremarkable years of it). At first, she’d been hesitant to go with Rosie on this trip; beaches weren’t really her thing.

Now she was loathe to leave.


	9. Drink A Beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke Bryan.

The phone rattled as it fell back into the cradle. Its shaking, banging on the lip of the plastic, was the only outward indication of the brief conversation. Tremors in her hand, a whispered exhalation through lips that couldn’t part properly, a thumping in her chest that slowed as if its life cords had been severed.

And maybe they had.

Her head was empty, unable to process. Logically, Bonnie knew she was in shock. Unfortunately, the logical half of her brain had taken a back seat so the emotionally unstable part of her could drive. And it was looking to be a pretty bumpy ride.

Her breath wouldn’t come easily and there was a painful thumping in her chest that she thought might possibly be her heart. Although, it had stopped earlier when she answered the phone so that could just be her imagination. For a minute or sixteen, Bonnie stood in her kitchen staring blankly at the wall. She blinked and her breath stuttered in her lungs, but the words were kept at bay, pushed out by the crazy emotional driver currently in charge of her faculties.

It might explain why she found her feet heading woodenly for the fridge. It might explain why she pulled a bag from the back with a note pinned to it reading ‘do not touch these until I’m home’. It might explain why her hands shook on the plastic handles and why her eyes glazed over.

But she didn’t think so.

She’d done enough research to know that people in shock or denial often had trouble adjusting to things. But – as with the logic deficiency – the scientific part of her brain had switched off. And without it, there wasn’t much left to fill the void. Nothing but music.

And she couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t. Not yet. So she shoved it aside in favour of silence. The kind of silence she hadn’t experienced in a while. Not for months. Suddenly the confines of the house felt stifling. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but the rooms, the photos, the walls and furnishings felt too close. Invasive and full of memories.

There was little intention to leave, but the idea of clearing her head obviously had some root in her subconscious. Vaguely, she realised she was outside, squinting in the dying light of the day. It was hard to think about the phone call. She couldn’t even acknowledge what it had been about. It hurt. It left a ragged hole in her… in her _everywhere_. So she ignored it. Denial.

She moved without thought. Their house sat on the end of the street and down a little, past their neighbours and the park and the corner store there was a river. On the other side of the river was the school. It was too far away, outside her bubble of awareness.

Bonnie needed a breath, needed to keep her respiration going, but it was difficult. She wandered, the bag swinging by her side. Aimless. Where once there had been tethers in her life, they were gone now. Cut; setting her free. So she drifted.

And found herself at the park.

A few people she knew from around town were there. They waved, greeted her in words that made no sense. Bonnie forced a smile. It was too big, too bright, too powerful. A lie.

Against the possibility of them coming over for a chat (and she knew there wasn’t enough strength inside her to construct a façade good enough to last a whole conversation), she kept wandering. Her feet moving rhythmically, the sensation of her footfalls on the grass, the pavement, the wood, the only thing assuring her she was awake. It was too jarring, rattling through her spine to her skull, echoing hollowly. Morbid reminder that there was no waking up.

The sun warmed her. It flashed in her eyes, making her blink away the excess. Her shoes clattered on the boards of the pier.

For a long time, she stood there. Just staring at the water, shimmering in the sunlight. She watched the boats along the far bank drift hither and thither, watched kids swimming in the roped section behind the school.

 _Unbelievable_.

She sank to the wood, sitting heavily but not caring that it hurt. Maybe the pain was good. Physical pain might lessen the rest. She knew it wouldn’t, but she could hope.

Her hand slipped into the plastic of the bag and snapped a bottle free. Then she snapped another one. The first she held in her hand, the cold seeping into her fingers, numbing the flesh to match her mind. The second, she settled on the pier beside her, popping the cap off and then leaving it.

 _Gone_.

That one word finally wormed its way into her head, shaking everything. The realisation causing her to suck in a breath. Pain lanced right through her middle, ripping a great big hole in her hastily constructed wall of indifference.

And the conversation filled the blanks.

Gone. She was gone. Not coming home. The words didn’t seem to fit into any particular order. The words ‘plane crash’ kept flitting around though. She figured that was the answer to the ‘how’.

She pressed the lip of the bottle to her mouth and took a sip. Beer wasn’t her first choice (or her second, or third) when it came to beverages. But this was Marceline’s favourite and every year since they’d turned eighteen they’d sat on the pier and had one. The ritual had started after their first successful exam block out of high school. It had been a momentous occasion.

“ _I didn’t fail,” Marceline called, waving her sheet in Bonnie’s face. “Check that out. All passes._ ”

Every last one. Bonnie remembered getting it framed. She’d framed all of the big moments. And Marceline had been so worried that she wouldn’t be good enough, smart enough, to pass college, to get a degree. When she was finally handed that piece of thick card announcing to everyone that she’d survived four years of university and come out the other side with a degree, she’d smiled so big. She’d beamed and the first person she hugged was Bonnie.

“ _Oh my god,” Bonnie muttered as Marceline loosened her choke hold. “Are you crying right now? Is the cynical Marceline crying right now?_ ”

“ _Shut your face, Bennet. I didn’t think I’d get here._ ”

“ _I did._ ”

Beers that day had been consumed a little too hastily for Marceline. Bonnie distinctly remembered her ending up in the river. Then later having to explain the water stains on Bonnie’s mum’s carpet.

The pier was their place. They came to the pier, they brought beers with them and they laughed. Marceline had asked her out on the pier too. They’d already been there for something important, but then it kind of doubled for that as well.

“ _H…Hey, Bonnie.” Marceline fidgeted. She did it all the time, but Bonnie had known her long enough to realise this was different. “Any chance… that maybe, you’d want to go out with me sometime?_ ”

Considering how uncomfortable Marceline had been about asking, she’d been surprisingly brazen every moment thereafter. In that stupid way memories have, they flashed through her head, picking up speed as they went. Their first date had seen them on the pier too. Well, the park and then the pier, but that’s just details. They’d come here every time they went anywhere.

When they were seven and Marceline’s mum passed away, they sat on the pier and kicked their legs in the water.

When they were eleven and starting high school, they’d spent every afternoon on the other side of the river and swum across. It was a shortcut on a good day and a very lengthy detour on all the rest.

When they were twenty they sat there too.

Every afternoon they could. They moved in together right down the street because it was convenient. It seemed so stupid. So utterly silly, but it was _their_ spot.

She looked down at the bottle. It seemed so monumentally unfair that Marceline wasn’t there to drink the beer with her. Marceline who had spent her entire life aspiring to be a rock star. Marceline who had finally made it. Marceline who had kissed her in the airport before taking off for her first gig after their album made the top three of the charts. Marceline who had promised her the world.

Gone.

And Bonnie didn’t understand why.

The river was blurry, she realised. The sun was almost gone, the buildings all wonky around the outside, the trees merging together in strange ways. Her eyes felt funny. She touched her cheeks, surprised to find them wet.

Tears.

She was crying.

And once the realisation struck her they poured forth all the harder.

Bonnie threw her now empty bottle as hard as she could, watching the last rays of light glint off the glass, watching it splash out in the middle of the river. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to suck air in past the tears that wouldn’t stop leaking, past the sobs she couldn’t hold down.

The sun set.

She cried herself dry.

Still taking shuddering breaths because that’s all she could manage, Bonnie poured the beer into the river and forced the lid back on. It wouldn’t stay airtight long, but there was a certain peace in watching it bob downstream. Somewhere… deep down, she imagined the bottle would find Marceline. Somehow.

“See you later,” she whispered hoarsely, her throat parchment from crying.

 

\---

 

Bonnibel sat on the pier with a beer every week without fail; and every other week when life got hectic. When she was published in a science magazine and discovered her love of scientific journalism, she collapsed onto the wood with a pair of beer bottles and told Marceline all about it. She used great big sweeps of her arms and couldn’t help but smile. There was a little guilt niggling at the edges. Like life shouldn’t be able to make her smile when Marceline wasn’t in it. But there was always that musical voice reminding her that it was preposterous to think that just because she wasn’t around, Bonnie wasn’t allowed to be happy.

“ _All I want,” Marceline said with unexpected solemnity. “Is to make you the happiest person alive. Please… let me do that. Let me love you, alright? Until I’m old. Because you’re the best thing in my life. And you need to be happy. So I’m going to do that._ ”

And Bonnie had promised. And Marceline had made her happy.

And when she was old and playing chess with that one other spinster in the gardens by the river, Marceline made her happy. Because despite the plane crash, despite the lack of physical closeness, despite the distinct and painful lack of _Marceline_ in her life, there would always be her music.

Marceline’s album was buried with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a partner fic for this one where I killed Bonnie, but my poor little heart couldn't handle it.


	10. A Nice Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a prompt I expected to fill, but hey. The song's at the bottom because spoilers.

White.

That was literally the _only_ thing she could see. White. So much of the damn stuff. She wondered why she’d left Bonnie in charge.

Okay, so it wasn’t all white. That’s an exaggeration. There was yellow and pink and orange all in pastel shades. The white plates were gilded in gold and the cutlery matched. Flowers in fancy vases stood at the centre of every last table and the cloths draped over them were all embroidery and lace. 

There was a lot of white.

But there was a lot of colour too. Pastel colour, sure. But colour just the same.

And all the seats were filled with people she knew dressed in colour. Bright colour in some instances, less so in others. It almost seemed a shame that there was the slightest dash of darkness in the room. Of course there was black, what other colour would you get a tuxedo in? Any other colour is tacky and she would not hear an argument on that point.

So it wasn’t all white. Not technically.

But Marceline was.

She pinched the material between her fingers wondering how she’d ever managed to get to this point. How had she ever managed to fall for a girl like Bonnie? And how had she ever managed to hold onto her? But the most important question was probably how _the goddamn hell_ had anyone ever convinced her to wear a dress?

 

\---

 

 _There had never been anything overly special about their relationship. Marceline had figured that since they started out friends, they’d probably always stay that way. Everyone knew about the friend-zone – guys dreaded it, girls thought it was pretty self-explanatory – Marceline wondered if there was any reason to worry if she was stuck there_.

_The stickiness in her chest whenever Bonnie smiled at her should’ve been her first clue that all was not well. But she was oblivious to that as to everything else. She was Bonnie’s friend and did the supportive friend thing when Bonnibel introduced her to different suitors. Hiding the ache in her chest at their unworthiness was tough, but as Best Friend, it was her duty. So she kept her judgements and her jealousy locked behind her ribs._

_Until that one blustery day that she didn’t. Because when Bonnie called and told her she was coming round – the significant other of the moment gone from her life, blown away in the spring gale – Marceline hadn’t concealed the snap to her tone as well as she’d thought. She hadn’t been able to. Why would anyone ever break up with Bonnie? She’s fucking perfect._

_Of course, that had led to her rant about why Bonnie deserved better than all their lousy arses anyway._

_And that had – in a bizarre twist of fate – led to Bonnibel asking her out. Or… no she didn’t ask at all really._

_“… and if they can’t see that, then they can just rot in hell, because you deserve so much more than any of that shit and it actually breaks me a little that those bastards think they can walk all over you just because you’re so nice and–”_

_“Marceline, we should go out.”_

_She stopped babbling about crap and blinked – struck dumb. “In this weather? I didn’t even want you to visit me and I_ love _it when you visit me.”_

_Bonnibel laughed at her in that way that turned her insides to goo. “No. On a date. You and me.”_

_She blinked again. Still feeling pretty dumb. “Why?”_

_“Because you treat me like a princess and you know every last one of my quirks and how I like to organise the fridge. Because you’re perfect.”_

_Oh._

_Yeah. That’s actually how they started dating. What a crazy day_ that _had been._

_Six years they’d known each other when Bonnie cut her off mid rant – which, by the way, not cool, but whatever – and four months after that they moved in together. It didn’t take them long to get past the weirdness of ‘hey… I’m dating my best friend’ because they’d basically been a couple for years at that point anyway. They just fit into each other’s lives like it was nothing._

_It wasn’t special to anyone else. From the outside it would’ve looked so strange, so dysfunctional. But it did work. And so what if they didn’t go on wild dates? Huh? No one gets to judge them. Their dates involved movie nights and walks along the boardwalk and driving out to the county fair to ride the Ferris wheel and watch fireworks go off. Being with each other was what mattered, not how expensive the restaurant was._

_And let’s face it, the fact that Marceline didn’t break the carefully alphabetised nature of Bonnie’s books was a big plus for her. Bonnie knowing better than to mess with any of her music was awesome, that goes without saying. It was comfortable._

_Domestic._

_And that had scared the crap out of Marceline so very much._

_But not even close to as much as how terrified she was nearly a year after they started dating. Because wow, what Bonnie said was just not something that should be brought up in casual conversation. It’s not. She wasn’t_ equipped _to handle it. At all. No._

_“Hey, Marceline,” Bonnie muttered, swinging her hand – wound tightly with Marceline’s – as they walked out of the café where they’d had lunch._

_“Hum?”_

_“Let’s get married.”_

_For a moment Marceline did not even realise what Bonnibel had said since, hey now, not prepared at all. Then it sank in and she stopped dead in her tracks. “Let’s do what now?”_

_Bonnie beamed at her like this was just… nothing. Just nothing. “Get married. You and me.”_

_Again with the blinking. “Um… why?”_

“ _Because I’m in love with you,” Bonnibel told her like this too was just nothing. Oh yes, so self-explanatory, that makes everything alright. “Because you’re the best thing in my life and existing without seems like the worst nightmare I could ever come up with.”_

_More blinking. So eloquent. “Um…” she said, letting go of Bonnie’s hand. “You sure? That’s not at all how I expected this topic to be brought up.”_

“ _Oh yeah,” Bonnibel burbled. “Deadly serious.” And she rummaged around in her bag for all of five seconds before coming up with a little velvet box. It opened and out came a ring._

_Marceline – who was still a little shell shocked – took the ring and stared at it as if expecting some kind of written essay to appear that would help clear all this up. “Married,” she mumbled, squinting at the ring. White gold and diamonds, that’s all she knew about rings, but this was probably pretty nice as far as they go. “Us. Yeah.”_

_Bonnie’s massive grin creased a little wider. “Is that a yes? Or are you still dazed?”_

“ _Yeah…” And it hit her. Married to Bonnibel meant being with her forever. Her whole life would have Bonnie in it. Same last name, same sink, same towel rack, same bed. Bonnie would be the last thing she saw before falling asleep at night and the first thing she saw every morning when she woke. They’d have breakfast together and watch movies on the couch together and sit in silence while doing whatever their work required of them and it would be absolutely perfect. “Yeah,” she said with a little more confidence, a little more assuredly. “Let’s get married.”_

 _Then Bonnie made this little squealing sound that was just pure happiness in audio format and Marceline knew she’d never regret saying ‘yes’. Not ever_.

 

\---

 

At least not until she found herself standing in the side room of the church wearing this horribly beautiful white dress with her hair done up and the last seven months suddenly felt so much more real. Married. Right now. Today.

She started hyperventilating.

“Holy shit,” she exhaled, sitting down heavily on a chair that wasn’t as fancy as the ones out in the chapel. “Holy mother of God.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that in a church,” Marshall chuckled. He turned from staring out at the people still seating themselves and the grin fell from his face. “Shit, are you alright? You’ve gone white.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” she groaned, scrunching her eyes shut.

She could practically _feel_ him start smiling again. “Cold feet? Should I tell Bonnie to call the whole thing off?”

“No, you jerk,” she snapped, trying to catch her breath. 

“Then what’s your problem?”

“ _I’m getting fucking married_ ,” she stage whispered. “To Bonnibel. Oh my God.”

He laughed. “Calm down.”

Marceline grabbed him by the lapels of his neatly pressed suit coat and hauled him down to eye level. “No, I will not calm down,” she ground out. “I’m getting married to Bonnibel. That’s… huge.” She let him go. Eyes wide now, breathing still the tiniest bit erratic, she slumped back into the chair and sucked in a mighty inhalation. Slowly, she let it back out again. “I’m getting married,” she repeated at a much more moderate tone.

“Just to Bonnibel, yes,” Marshall concluded, rolling his eyes.

“No. Not just to Bonnibel,” she corrected, lifting a finger to wave it at him. “To the love of my life, a girl I never thought could possibly love me like I love her. This is a special day.”

A fond smile tilted his lips up. “She turned you into a marshmallow,” he all but cooed. “This is a _magical_ day.”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t mess it up, little sister,” he warned. “You won’t get another chance like this one.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on doing a damn thing wrong,” she assured him. “I’m going to love her as best I can until I’m dust.” She paused. “And then some.”

Marshall hooked a thumb out to the crowed, a faux-confused expression on his stupid face. “I just meant not to mess up your vows or something.”

“Sometimes I hate you. Why did I pick you to be my Man of Honour?” she grumbled.

“Because I’m your brother and you love me,” he sang.

“I often wonder about that,” she mused, unfazed. 

“If I’m your brother?”

“If I love you.”

He waved a hand. “Of course you do. I have incredible skills that are invaluable to you.”

“Yeah?” she enquired, smirking. “Like what?”

His smile turned genuine then as he said quietly, “Like my ability to distract you on your wedding day so you don’t have a panic attack and throw up all over your pretty dress. Because that would probably ruin everything and your future wife would skin me. I’m rather attached to my skin as it is.”

 _Wife_.

The word bounced around in her head for a moment before it sank in. When it did she had to concentrate very hard on not losing it again. Calm breathing. In and out. Not hard. She’d been doing it since she was like a second old. Probably longer even. Just breathing. One simple task. Yes, that’s exactly how it’s done. Good job subconscious.

“Sorry,” Marshall chuckled when she’d regained enough control to glare at him. “I don’t get it, dude. I didn’t even panic when I got married. And I’m way more of an emotional wreck than you are.”

Marceline opened her mouth to argue that actually no he’s not. He at least had the guts to ask his once unrequited love, then girlfriend, now wife on a date. Marceline had just been slowly crushed under the weight of seeing someone she was hopelessly in love with date other people until some sort of divine intervention prevented her from regretting everything she’d never said or done. (Incidentally that was a lot of stuff to be interrupted in saying, she made a mental note to give a little bit of something scathing to Fionna later.)

Because yes, Fionna walked in wearing a wonderful seafoam dress with her hair done all in curls and a brilliant smile on her face. She glanced from Marceline to Marshall and back again, that strange quirk to her lips that said she thought something was funny and wasn’t going to tell you the punchline playing around her mouth. 

“Did I interrupt something?” Yes, in fact, you did. “Too bad. Bonnie’s ready and everyone’s seated so we can get all this,” she waved at Marceline, “out there to get hitched now.”

Oh my god. Oh my god.

Oh my god.

 _Married_. Right now.

She lurched rather woodenly to her feet, feeling panic replace blood in her veins.

“Just relax,” Fionna murmured gently, placing a hand on Marceline’s shoulder. “Do you love her?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, trying to ignore how her voice trembled a little.

“And you want to spend the rest of your life with her?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Then all you have to do is repeat what the priest says and you can do that,” Fionna explained. “Just a few lines. You don’t even have to look at anyone in the crowd. They don’t exist. Just you, Bonnie and that sappy backing track that romance movies have. Alright?”

Marceline let out all the breath in her lungs in one great whoosh and nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Fionna smiled at her again, rubbing Marceline’s shoulder before hurrying out the door to take up her spot. It wasn’t until Marshall put his hand on the small of her back that she even realised she’d started shaking.

“It’ll be fine, Marce,” he murmured in a surprisingly soft voice. “Just a walk in the park.”

She exhaled, nodding, not really trusting herself to speak. The trembles running through every fibre of her being didn’t stop. There was no way to make them. All she could do was concentrate on her breathing.

Then the music started. There was no walking down the aisle, no long, painful parade through all the people she knew. Marshall looped their arms together (and she held onto his hand with a vice grip) and they stepped out on one side of the altar.

Across from them, Robert was just accompanying Bonnie out. In her own white dress, strapless and simple, Bonnibel looked absolutely breathtaking. Red hair was piled up in a cascade of vibrant curls, veil fastened somewhere (somehow… how did those things work?) at the back. Then Bonnie looked up and when their eyes met, she smiled. And Marceline’s heart completely forgot how to do the beating thing.

But she stopped shaking.

The short walk out to the altar did not even register. Everything else – and everyone in the room – fell away until it was just her and Bonnie standing in front of so many irrelevant placeholders. Only once she’d reached her place by Bonnibel’s side did she realise the whole time she’d been grinning like a fool.

“You look… wow,” Marceline breathed.

Bonnie giggled. “You look pretty wow too.”

Somehow her subconscious picked up all the necessary cues to repeat after the priest, but for the most part, she missed the whole thing. Ten years from that day, if asked what had happened, she wouldn’t have a clue. All she knew was that Bonnie was smiling at her and it was the best feeling in the entire universe.

The words, “I do,” drifting free of Bonnie’s mouth were less heard and more felt vibrating through her nerves. Saying them in reply was quite a feat. She’d pat herself on the back later for not stammering.

When asked if anyone in attendance objected to the marriage, Jake jokingly called out from his seat, “There is nothing sure in this world. You’re signing away your lives. Don’t do it.”

“Your opinion is invalid,” Marceline – somehow – managed to snipe back at him. Finn elbowed him in the ribs and he got a death glare from Rosie. And most of the congregation had a laugh. Bonnie was still beaming. It was fine. Definitely.

The vows. Shit. Marceline was positive she had something planned but it just… whoosh, right out her ear. _Shit_.

But then, “I swore to myself I’d have something elegant to say,” Bonnie began, her smile changing a little to something ironic. “Because of the two of us, I’m much more confronting with my feelings. But I couldn’t think of anything. Still I promise you, I will never, ever, touch your CD collection without you present, I will remember everything you ever told me about ‘the rules of vegetables’, I will listen when you speak to me because let’s face it, your voice is amazing. I promise I won’t ever get sick of sarcasm and I so swear that I will love you until the end of time. Because you’re the best thing in the world and I can’t believe you agreed to marry me. Thanks for that.” She ended with this little head tilt to one side and Marceline almost couldn’t hold back the eye roll at how adorable she was being.

“Well, now I feel like less of an idiot for having nothing super smooth to say here,” Marceline chuckled. “I one hundred percent swear to you that I will always do my best to communicate with you, because I’m really bad at it and I promise I’m going to get better. Just for you. I promise to make you smile and laugh as much as possible and I will only ever roll my eyes with you, not at you. No matter how many books you get or how many times we move, I promise that I’ll always carry every last one. And I won’t interrupt you while you’re sorting them later. I promise to keep you warm when it’s cold and hold the umbrella when it’s just too sunny. I will tell you exactly how much I love you every damn day because you are the single greatest thing that ever happened to me and I have no idea why you put up with me, but I’ll never stop thanking you and I’ll never stop trying to be better than I am because you deserve nothing less than perfection.” Why were words still falling out? She should stop. “Thank _you_ for marrying me.” She stopped. Good. Whew.

Bonnibel was – by this point – practically vibrating with pure joy. Or at least, Marceline hoped that’s what it was. For her own part, as she took the ring from Marshall, her hand was shaking so hard it was almost too hard to slip it onto Bonnie’s finger. Thank god she managed. That would’ve been awkward.

Then the minister said something that Marceline completely missed. She was paying just enough attention to know that she was allowed to kiss Bonnie now. There might have been a little too much enthusiasm for that. But by God, did it feel awesome. Even if Bonnibel kept it brief. Might be best. For the sake of their guests and all that.

A wink seemed appropriate though.

“By the power vested in me,” the priest declared. “I now pronounce you married.”

Honestly, leaving the church and waiting for everyone else to filter out was just so boring. She held Bonnie’s hand the whole time and had _no_ intention _whatsoever_ of letting go. No sir. But that’s really not what she wanted. She just wanted to kiss her wife. Good lord they were married. Bonnie was her wife. 

Weirdly, the only analogy Marceline could come up with for how _fucking awesome_ that felt, was maybe like a kid finding out his dad was Santa. Or perhaps winning the lottery? No. Nope. Bonnie was perfect. She was finding out the entire world was hers. Yeah. Good feeling.

Stupid photos. Standing around having her photograph taken with the wedding party, with just Bonnie, with just family with x, y, z. No! Not good enough. Still, she smiled through the whole thing because hey, she’s only planning on getting married once. Only one whole time. So she might as well suffer the happy snaps. Especially since she could see the impatience on Bonnie’s face too. Signing the marriage license was fine, it took all of five minutes, but the never-ending photo session started to get to her.

“I could probably eat a whole herd of buffalo,” Bonnibel muttered sourly as everyone finally – freaking _finally_ – began to head off for the reception.

“I don’t think there’s buffalo on the menu,” Marceline replied. “Unless Robert did something crazy.”

Bonnie sighed dramatically. “That stinks. I was looking forward to buffalo for dinner and everything.”

“Maybe settle for a steak.”

“What? A regular cow?” she gasped, doing a very good approximation of scandalised. “The injustice.”

Thankfully, Robert had excellent managerial skills. Best yet, his fiancé was a chef, so… food was arranged under her watchful eye. But no, seriously, he had the forethought to keep the reception relatively short. And holy crud, no one ever wants to press Rob for time. No. If he says the schedule is _this_ there will be no deviations. None at all.

Good thing too, because if Marceline had to wait around for hours to be fed there would probably be blood.

Mingling, fine. That’s a given. Besides, having other people remind her of just how lucky she is to be married to her best friend is pretty okay.

Except for Louise.

She just sighed. “I still don’t know how you even managed to convince her to marry you,” the woman lamented. “She’s everything you don’t even deserve in life.”

“Thanks,” Marceline said wryly, trying not to take it to heart. Louise was the kind of girl who would smile and tell you what she thinks. She had no filter. Which was quite nice really, at least Marceline always knew where she stood with Louise.

Unlike Bonnie’s grandmother. She was a friendly enough lady, sure, but Marceline always got the distinct impression that she was… not well liked. It probably didn’t help either, that old Granny Bennet was filling in for Bonnibel’s parents too. That was like… way too much familial antagonism in one tiny little woman.

“You treat her well, won’t you?” Granny asked pointedly, prodding Marceline’s shoulder with one gnarled finger. “She deserves the best of everything.”

“Of course I’ll treat her well,” Marceline scoffed. “I’d be the biggest idiot in the world to do less than my best.”

Granny’s eyes narrowed distrustfully. “Better than your best, please.”

“Sure, Granny.”

Bonnie’s uncle though (her dad’s brother, where Granny was her maternal grandmother; one relative left on each side of her family tree), he was fun. Kind of scary. But mostly fun. He was good with kids, was Peter. Yet there was this strange dark twist to his humour that would take the few children a couple more years to understand.

“You did a good thing, Abadeer,” he chuckled as Marshall’s littlest boy begged him for a piggy back. “I haven’t seen Bonnibel smile as much as she does with you in… years.”

“I like making her smile,” Marceline agreed, eyes finding Bonnie in the big space. It was decorated in the same pastel sunset colours the church had been. “The world is a better place when she’s happy.”

“Happy wife, happy life,” Jake muttered as he strode past with Rosie. Marceline shook her head at him.

“So long as you keep making her happy,” Peter went on, finally letting Clint clamber up onto his shoulders. “Then I’ll be a happy uncle and I won’t have to find somewhere to dump your body.”

After what was obviously deemed an ‘appropriate’ amount of mingling time, Robert began to steam from his ears as he ordered people to their seats. So that was hilarious. Marceline almost dawdled just to get a rise out of him. She changed her mind when Bonnie appeared by her side wearing the most agonised expression in the world.

“Do you think we could skip the speeches if I asked nicely,” Bonnie whispered in her ear.

“Pretty sure speeches come after the first course.”

“They better.”

For whatever reason, the wedding party was _announced_. Sheesh, Rob sure does like his protocols and plans. They could probably have done without that bit. But Rob being Rob wanted to do his job in the best way he knew how. So he’d do it right the first time. The rehearsal had been a nightmare.

“Since dad’s not here,” Robert began. “I get the absolute honour of doing all the organising for Bonnie’s wedding. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Robert, Bonnie’s little brother and it’s my privilege to be in charge of tonight. I’d like to thank every last one of you for being here tonight. It means a lot to us all. Now that dinner’s being served, you may all partake of chef extraordinaire, Bianca’s wonderful cooking.”

“It’s not buffalo,” Marceline informed Bonnie once food was placed in front of them. “I’m so sorry.” She leaned forward so she could see Robert further down the table. “Hey, where’s the buffalo? Your fiancé failed us.”

Robert blinked helplessly at her as Bonnie laughed. “Leave him alone. I can make do with this.”

Marceline eyed her dubiously. “You sure? This isn’t even steak. This is _fish_. I can go get you steak if you want.”

Bonnibel laid a hand over Marceline’s wrist. “It’s lovely. Thank you for offering, but I quite like fish too.”

“Whew.”

Considering every other thought that crossed her mind during the meal was ‘hey, you’re married now; to Bonnibel’ she didn’t feel all that different. And the conversation at their table reflected it. For Marceline, the banal normality of their discussions seemed totally out of place given that it was a wedding. But whatever. She remembered talking about how stupid it was that the only Olympic coverage they got was for the swimming at Marshall’s wedding. What did she know?

Besides, she spent most of the meal staring at Bonnie anyway.

And then her brother stood up. Good lord. Kill her now. Please. Right this second.

“Good evening everyone,” Marshall began, beaming. “Before we get to the wonderful cake at which point you’ll probably all lose interest in anything anyone has to say, I’d like to give my congratulations to the newlyweds. If you don’t know me, I’m Marshall,” he paused at something Fionna had to say and then laughed before continuing. “And my lovely wife says that if you don’t know me you should count your blessings. Anyway, I’m Marceline’s brother and I had to beat up her best friend to be the one standing here.”

He paused to give Marceline a dreadful grin. “I’ve been waiting all day to say this aloud, just gimme a minute,” he chuckled, making a little hand gesture to mime calming down. “Hey, little sister… what have you done? Hey, little sister, who’s your only one?” Marshall laughed as she threw a folded napkin at his head. “It’s a nice day for a white wedding.” He shrunk into himself as Marceline threatened to lob a spoon at him. “Okay, alright. I’ll play nice. This is the actual speech that I _prepared_. There was _forethought_ involved. Be proud for me. Okay.

“You know, I remember meeting Bonnibel before I knew she and Marceline were… _friends_. I’ll put emphasis on that because I really don’t think Marceline knows how to have more than one friend at a time. They were more acquaintances than anything else. My point is, I remember meeting her and thinking she was the most delightful person ever. I mean, come on. She’s almost _too_ nice. When I found out they were friends – and later that they’d somehow ended up dating – I was actually baffled. Like, Bonnie, for real, level with me here; why the hell did you pick her? I’m her brother, and I’m supposed to sing her praises tonight, but I’m so confused.”

“Cause she’s a sweetheart,” Bonnibel called back at him.

He snorted. “Whatever you say.” Marceline scowled at him. “I should probably have a witty anecdote to tell you all, but alas, I don’t. Since as far as I can tell, they keep their disagreements to themselves. But finding out my baby sister had a massive girl crush on someone she went to school with was pretty hilarious. Especially when, as Bonnie’s best friend, she had to suffer through all the other people she dated. There were so many pained phone calls to Fionna about it that I got to listen in on and I must say, knowing that Marceline has enough feelings to be whipped gave me probably too much entertainment.

“Still,” he chuckled, turning to Marceline. “Somehow you ended up with the girl of your dreams and I couldn’t be happier for you. Just don’t stuff it up.”

“I hate you,” Marceline growled at him. Marshall just shrugged, sitting, still wearing a massive grin.

From her spot a little further down the table, Keila leaned in. “I would’ve done a much better job,” she whispered.

“I more than agree,” Marceline groaned, sinking back into her chair.

Keila waved a hand at the audience. “I could fix it, if you wanted?”

“No, the fewer speeches I have to sit through, the better,” Marceline replied. “But thanks.”

Thankfully, Bonnie kept her distracted during the few other speeches people decided simply must happen. Granny made a mention of how Marceline had always been a little iffy to her, but seemed to make Bonnie happy so there was that and Peter might have alluded to tossing her off a bridge as well. Thankfully, Robert could only say pleasant things about Marceline. He was so nice. It was a stroke of good fortune that Marceline’s father decided not to speak. He loved Bonnie – really, he did – but it was probably for the best that he kept his peace. Just in case.

There was cake then, and since both Robert and Bianca were fantastic at cooking, it was delicious enough to silence anyone else who might have entertained delusions of making a toast. Thank goodness. Marceline might not have ever been too big on public displays of affection, but that didn’t really matter at this point. Anyway, sharing a slice of cake with her wife _hardly_ counted. Surely.

Dancing probably did though.

Although that did not stop her from spinning Bonnie out onto the floor as the first song of the evening played. Any part of her that might have been panicking about all these people watching while she danced (because she’s never been particularly coordinated) vaporised when Bonnibel smiled at her. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even all that hard to imagine there was no one else in the room.

“See,” Bonnie hummed into her throat, chin tucked against Marceline’s shoulder. “Dancing’s not so bad.”

“Dancing with _you_ is not so bad,” Marceline corrected.

They were silent for a moment, pretty wrapped up in the dancing thing. “Hey,” Bonnibel whispered after a moment.

“Yeah?”

Bonnie’s fingers wound into Marceline’s hair, pulling her closer. “You’re my wife now. How awesome is that?”

“Yeah,” Marceline sighed, wrapping her arms a little tighter around Bonnie’s waist. “It’s the best. Of all the things ever.”

Marceline could feel her hair fall free of its loose pins as Bonnie played with the hair on the back of her neck. It tingled rather satisfyingly. She pressed a kiss to the side of Bonnie’s neck allowing the sensation of being unbelievably content to just wash over her.

“What do you say,” Bonnie murmured. “I toss that bouquet of flowers Rosie has been holding onto so determinedly and we bounce out of here?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Marceline concurred. “Let’s do exactly that.”

“Do you want to throw a bouquet too?”

“Pretty sure it’s traditional to only throw the one.”

Bonnibel leaned back to lift an eyebrow at her. “Do you want to throw a bouquet?” she repeated.

“No,” Marceline chuckled. “I’m good. You throw it.”

With the brightest grin, Bonnie bounded over to her brother and whispered something in his ear. Marceline waited off to the side as all the over eager women wanting to be involved in the toss gathered around at Rob’s instruction. Keila didn’t join them; she moseyed over to Marceline and beamed at her.

“Hey,” she said in a much too cheerful tone. “How you doing?”

“Are you drunk?” Marceline laughed.

Keila shrugged one shoulder. “I might be a little tipsy. It’s nothing. How’s it feel to be a married woman now?”

“It… doesn’t feel that much different, actually,” Marceline told her slowly. “I’m pretty convinced the biggest change will be the name thing.”

“I can’t believe she took your name,” Keila sighed. “Bonnibel Abadeer. How weird. I was convinced it’d go the other way.”

“Me too, actually,” Marceline agreed in a shrill tone. She’d been massively surprised. 

Keila rolled her eyes. “Although,” she sang. “Now I think about it, Marceline Bennet is equally weird. It’s a tough situation.”

“Whatever.” She gestured over at Bonnie. “You don’t want to catch the flowers?”

Keila snorted. “What? And risk end up in some sappy relationship like you and sign away my life? No thanks. Besides, I don’t really think it matters who catches the flowers, Rob and Bee will be married inside the year.”

They both paused to watch as Bonnibel heaved it over her shoulder at the crowd anyway. And in a hilarious twist, Marshall’s six year old daughter (perched on Peter’s shoulders) was the one who caught it. Marshall obviously thought it was massively amusing, Fionna just looked scandalised. It’d go down as a story to tell her when she grew up though.

“Hey, Keila,” Bonnie enthused when she bounced back over. “We’re heading off now, but thanks for coming.”

“Gotta kick start the honeymoon, yeah?” Keila chortled with a wink. “I’m going to get another slice of cake. You kids have fun.”

It didn’t take them long to say goodnight to everyone who mattered. It hadn’t been a big affair anyway. Neither of them had much family to speak of and they basically shared the same circle of friends, so really, it was a matter of minutes before they were standing on the footpath outside wearing enormous smiles and giggling uncontrollably.

“Marceline.”

They both spun, remaining laughter fading in their throats. Hunson stepped out of the building, expression serious. As always.

“Hey, dad,” she muttered, equally sombre.

“Mister Abadeer,” Bonnie said with a warm – if tentative – smile.

He motioned behind him. “I missed saying farewell inside.” Hunson paused, almost expectantly. Then he sighed heavily as if this were a _terribly_ difficult situation. “Take care of each other, alright?”

Bonnie’s smile wavered away from unsure into something a little more confident. “Of course,” she told him like he was an idiot. Which, come on, he kind of was for having to say that. Seriously.

“I know I haven’t been the most supportive of this decision,” he went on. “But… good luck, I guess.”

“Thanks, dad,” Marceline huffed wryly.

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets. “Good. Have… fun.” With that and one last odd look at them, he went back inside.

“Man, he’s such a buzzkill,” Marceline grumbled.

Bonnibel laced her fingers through Marceline’s. “He’s just concerned. It’s his job.” She tugged, bobbing her head towards the car. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t help but share Bonnie’s grin. “Yeah. Let’s. But first…” Marceline pulled Bonnie to her and kissed her as hard has she could manage. Kissed her until she was breathless and dizzy and completely unaware of where she was.

“Wow,” Bonnie breathed. “You love me that much, huh?”

“More than that,” Marceline informed her, pushing hair behind one ear. “That’s just… the introduction. I’ve got a week to follow up and then the rest of my life to love you more than anyone has ever loved another person.”

“You’re so cheesy,” Bonnibel giggled as she slid into the car.

“Only for you, dearest wife.”

Laughter rang in the cab of the car and it was beautiful. “Hey, Marceline? We’re totally married.”

“Yep. For the rest of our lives.”

“Such a positive outlook,” Bonnie teased.

“Oh, I’m not letting you go. No way. You’re stuck with me, Bennet.”

“Abadeer,” she corrected haughtily.

“To me, you’ll always be a Bennet.”

Bonnibel wound their fingers together again as Marceline pointed the car out of town. “You might want to work on that. Because I’m your wife now and I insist on being called by your last name. Otherwise, how will anyone know I’m yours?”

“I guess they’ll just have to deal with it.”

“I guess they will.”

 

\---

 

 _It’s a nice day to start again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White Wedding - Billy Idol


	11. Good In Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carrie Underwood

Good In Goodbye

It was weird, seeing Finn like that.

She’d know his laughter anywhere and it seemed so strange to hear it now. Bonnie whipped her head around the moment she recognised the sound, so deep and hearty. He’d always had an honest laugh. The kind that would make children smile.

And speaking of children, there was a girl on his shoulders, squealing as he whirled her around. Her red hair flew in the breeze, little hands fisted in Finn’s blonde locks. A little floral skirt ruffled with her as she kicked her legs and he beamed up at her.

Then he saw her and the moment froze, the grin etched across his face, carved there in awkward permanence. The little girl looked up slowly, breaking the spell. Her giggles chimed and the tableau shattered.

“Daddy!” she squeaked. “Do you know the lady?”

“Bonnie,” he rasped, shaking his head free, that easy smile she knew so well curving his mouth. “Long time.”

Bonnibel folded her arms and took a wary step closer. “Yes. It has been a while. Nice to see you, Finn.”

The girl drummed on his head. “Who’s the lady?” she demanded.

He rolled his eyes up to look at her. “This is Bonnie,” Finn told her. “She’s an old friend of mine. Bonnie, this is Faith, my daughter.”

She waggled her fingers at the girl. “And how old are you?” Bonnibel asked gently.

“Four!” she exclaimed happily.

“Wow. That’s old.”

“No it’s not,” Faith retorted with a frown and all the indignation a four year old could muster. “Mum says I’m really young. And that’s why I can’t say naughty words.”

Bonnie laughed. The girl sounded so much like her father. Even looked like him, right down to the pout. Adorable.

And in that moment, she was reminded of just how much this had hurt, how much talking to Finn now should probably hurt. There’d been a knife in her gut, twisting with every mention of his name for so long. Yet… now it was gone. For the life of her, Bonnie didn’t know where – or even when – it had been pulled free.

The door to the restaurant tinkled as it was pulled in and a young woman strode out. Her hair was the same shade of orange as Faith’s so Bonnie assumed this was her mother. Instantly, she could see why Finn had picked her. She was gorgeous, a twinkle in her amber eyes, laugh lines crinkling the edges of her mouth.

Instinctively, Bonnie huddled a little closer to herself, not wanting to seem like _that woman_. All she got was a confused smile, however. When Finn noticed they’d been joined by someone else, his face lit up and he kissed her cheek.

“Bonnie this is my wife, Hayden.” He grinned, turning back to face Bonnibel. “And this is Bonnibel; we knew each other in high school and through most of university.”

“Oh,” Hayden said in a sing-song tone as if that explanation alone spoke so many volumes. “The Bonnibel you dated for like… four years?”

“That’s me,” she replied in what she hoped very much sounded like a light-hearted tone. “Was it really four years?”

“Probably more like five,” Finn added, nodding. “Three years of high school and then nearly two in college. We broke up because I dropped out half way through my second year.”

“I…” Bonnie didn’t want to argue with him. Not again. Not about the same thing. So she just bobbed her head instead. “And how did you guys meet?”

“At the police academy,” he said brightly. “Hayden was training to be a firewoman at the same time I was in the school and they do training together sometimes.”

“He fell off one of the obstacles and took me down with him. I punched him in the gut and he asked me to have coffee,” Hayden went on, smiling at him. “That was seven years ago now.”

“Yeah.” Now Finn frowned, fixing the expression on Bonnie. “Where have you been for the last million years?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Around. Travelling. I graduated and applied for a ton of jobs but the industry is really picky so I went to America. Picked up a journalism degree in the process. Now I write articles for a science paper.”

“How’d the business thing go down?”

“Robert took over dad’s company,” she muttered. “He was always better suited to it.”

Hayden’s head fell to one side. “The journalism thing, do you travel for it?”

She nodded gently. “Sometimes. Mostly to Germany or the Netherlands.”

“I guess that second language is finally paying off then,” Finn chuckled.

“Apparently. I–”

“Hey, they didn’t have… Oh.”

Marceline blinked; the cups she’d been staring so intently at only a moment before now mostly forgotten in her hands. Her eyes flicked from Finn to Hayden and back to Bonnie. Then she arched one eyebrow questioningly, that wonderful smirk creeping across her face.

“Who’s this then?” she asked teasingly.

“Finn,” Bonnie sighed. “This is Marceline.”

“Hello,” Finn said in what Bonnibel would very nearly call a _jovial_ voice. How did he get to be _jovial_? “This is my wife, Hayden and our daughter, Faith. Lovely to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Marceline breathed, taking the hand he thrust at her and shaking it carefully. “You too. Is that… Finn the guy who dropped out of college to join the police force?”

He chortled. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Cool. So did you make it as a cop?”

“Sure did. Got a gun license and everything,” he said proudly. “Gotta keep it away from the little one though.”

Marceline cocked her fingers like a gun and made a blasting sound in Finn’s direction. “Good plan.”

After a beat of awkward quiet Bonnie prompted, “They didn’t have…?” and Marceline’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, right.” She held out one of the cups. “They didn’t have caramel because they’re lame. So you got vanilla instead.”

Bonnie let out a whine but wrapped her hands around the cup anyway. At least it was warm. And it tasted delightful. Just this once she’d forgive the lack of caramel. “You know me too well.”

Marceline beamed. “I’d hope so. It’s been a while.”

“How long have you guys known each other?” Hayden asked in that much too polite tone reserved for strange conversations with a spouse’s ex.

“Like… seven years right?” Marceline mused, brows drawn together. “We met on a plane to America when Bonnie graduated.”

“It’s eight years,” Bonnibel whispered.

“Whatever. She had the _audacity_ to get her seat number wrong so we ended up having a rather heated debate for almost an hour about how 14F could _possibly_ look like 15E,” Marceline explained. “Since a flight to Yankee land is a bazillion years long, the conversation moved onto other topics.” She shrugged. “Pretty boring.”

Hayden’s face contorted in thought. “How _can_ 14F look like 15E?”

“I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” Bonnie groaned. “I’d left them in my check-in luggage so I spent the whole flight basically blind.”

“Yuck,” Faith sang. “Do people call you four-eyes?”

“Not anymore,” Bonnie said, smiling. She lifted a hand to self-consciously push her glasses further up her nose. “Thankfully we’re all too old for that kind of thing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Marceline mumbled.

“Right, yes,” Bonnie amended, pressing her fingers to her forehead as though she’d forgotten something dreadfully important. “It always slips my mind that you’re just a big kid.”

Marceline grinned. “Damned straight.”

“Oh!” Faith cried, waving a tiny hand. “She said a bad word!”

“Oops!” Marceline sang when Bonnie slapped her arm.

“Wedding ring,” Finn blurted, eyes popping wide. “You’re married?”

Bonnie smiled softly. “You didn’t think I’d stay single forever did you?” she asked sweetly.

He went red. “I guess not.”

“It’s been a long time, Finn,” she reminded him. 

“So… you’re missus someone now?”

“Yes. I am.”

He bobbed his head. “Lucky guy.”

Marceline scoffed. “A guy should be so lucky.” To make her point, she looped her fingers through Bonnie’s and offered Finn a smug smirk.

His eyes flashed between them at supersonic speeds, mouth hanging open by the hinges. “No way. Really?”

“Shut your mouth, dear,” Hayden muttered.

“Sorry. But for real?”

“Yes,” Bonnibel told him. “She asked me out on the plane. We’ve been married for nearly seven years.”

Marceline snapped her fingers. “That’s the seven I was thinking of. Right.”

“Wow,” he exhaled. “Congratulations.”

Hayden tapped his elbow. “We have to be at your parents’ place in twenty,” she mumbled. 

“Yeah. We should get going. But it was nice seeing you, Bonnie.”

“Bye, Bonnie!” Faith cried, waving frantically as they headed off. Hayden only offered a smile before following him away.

Once they were gone, Bonnie wound her arm through Marceline’s holding tight to her hand. “Was that as awkward for you as it seemed?” Marceline asked quietly.

“Only a little,” she admitted. “I guess I knew I’d see him sometime and I knew it’d probably hurt a little bit. But it’s alright.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely. When we broke up it… it really stung.” She shrugged. “But I’m glad we did. We had fun, and maybe I thought he was what I wanted. But he wasn’t. I ended up in a much better place.”

Marceline offered her a genuine smile then. “And you’re not just saying that because you have to, right?”

“Of course not. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Do you want one of those little people things he had on his shoulder?” Marceline queried with a shudder.

Bonnie laughed. “Maybe we can start with a cat and see how that goes.”

“I guess I can do a cat,” she agreed hesitantly.

“Marceline?”

“Yep?”

“I do love you.” Bonnie pressed a kiss to her cheek just to prove it. “All the time, every day.”

And Marceline’s beautiful smile arced a little higher. “I love you too, you big dork.”

“Dinner?”

“Best thing I’ve heard all afternoon.”

 

 _But we both ended up where we belong. I guess goodbye made us strong_.


End file.
